


Improvements

by PsychSpark



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7620553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychSpark/pseuds/PsychSpark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They aren’t the same as her legos - she got a whole box for her fifth birthday! - because they don’t stick together, which she thinks is disappointing because it means she can’t build the same things she usually does. She frowns, staring at the pieces and trying to figure a way to hold the blocks together the way she wants. She sits cross-legged with her elbows digging into her knees and her fists digging into her cheeks, pout etched onto her face as she glares at the blocks. She wants to make them better."</p>
<p>Or, how a 32-year-old woman ends up saving New York City from the ghost apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**_4._ **

One night, when she is bored, Jillian goes into her mother’s study and asks what she should do. Her mother laughs airily and tells Jillian to ‘count all the bricks in the patio’ and doesn’t look away from her work. Jillian learns the word _dismissive_ a few years later but she’s known the meaning much longer. Despite that, she goes and counts all the bricks in the patio. She gets lost several times and has to restart because she gets distracted by the ants crawling up the wall to the kitchen window, and then the buzzing noise which she figures out are the fireflies at the back of the garden, and then her dad needs her help, but eventually she counts all 78 of the bricks and goes back inside to report back to her mother. Her mother snorts and tells her to count all the plates and this time it only takes her two tries, and when she goes back to her mother after that she actually disrupts the work her mother is usually so preoccupied with. Her mother looks down at her over her desk and sighs. She rips a page from a notebook and scribbles onto it a list, a line with a blank space left after each point.

“Here. When you’ve counted how many there are of each thing, write down the number beside it above the line. You remember what all the numbers look like, don’t you?” She hands Jillian the notebook. Jillian frowns, lines digging deep into her brow. Of course she knows all the numbers, she’s not a _baby_. She’s _four_ and she knows what all the numbers look like. She knows that it’s called the numeral system and she likes numbers almost as much as she likes playing with lego but her brother won’t let her play with the legos anymore because he thinks she’s gross all of a sudden. Jillian thinks her brother is being mean, because he doesn’t even _play_ with the legos.

But she still takes the notebook and the pencil and runs to count the first thing on the list - how many screws are there in the doors?

**_5._ **  

Jillian’s dad comes to school not long after she starts to talk to her teacher. She’s playing with the building blocks at the other end of the room like she’s been told to, and she _was_ building a mansion but she knocked it over so she could look at the pieces. They aren’t the same as her legos - she got a whole box for her fifth birthday! - because they don’t stick together, which she thinks is disappointing because it means she can’t build the same things she usually does. She frowns, staring at the pieces and trying to figure a way to hold the blocks together the way she wants. She sits cross-legged with her elbows digging into her knees and her fists digging into her cheeks, pout etched onto her face as she glares at the blocks. She wants to make them _better_.

“Jill?” She looks up at her dad, and she thinks his face looks weird and she doesn’t like it. “Honey, I said your name four times. You haven’t moved in ten minutes.”

Jillian makes a show of throwing her arms up and then pitches backward, rolling over her head and ends up kneeling on the floor, ignoring the fresh carpet burn on her knees as she does jazz hands. He smiles and she looks past him at her teacher, who has the same expression she always has when she looks at Jillian. She doesn’t know what to call it or what it means, but she knows none of the other kids get looked at like that.

“She’s just a little quirky.” Her dad says. “Do you have a problem with my daughter liking maths?” Jillian stops listening because she’s caught sight of the building blocks again and she has an idea. When her dad comes over to tell her to pack up he stops and looks silently at what she’s built.

“Jill, how long did it take you to build this?”

“I don’t know.” She answers honestly. She never looked at the clock. As much as she likes numbers, she thinks clocks are silly and that time is confusing, because sometimes it moves faster than others.

* * * 

When he’s driving her home after talking to her teacher, Jillian’s dad doesn’t take the normal route. Jillian watches the other cars on the road and wonders where he’s going, but doesn’t ask. He’s singing to the song playing and she knows when he’s singing he doesn’t like to be interrupted. He parks and tells her to get out and she does, waits for him on the sidewalk while he times his exit onto the road. She counts the number of seconds it takes each car to go by and she never counts higher than fifteen.

“Alright kiddo, take a look.” He points at a storefront and she turns around, and in that moment the trajectory of Jillian’s life changes. One day she will realise it was this very moment where she took her first step towards becoming Holtzmann. Her dad checks his watch but she doesn’t notice.

“The store closes in forty-five minutes. You have thirty to find everything you want and ten to negotiate what I’ll actually buy for you.” He says. She tugs on his jeans.

“That’s only forty.” She says.

“The last five are for actually buying the stuff.” He says, messing up her hair. “Go on, time’s wasting.”

She ends up bringing home half the shop.

**_7._ **

Three things happen when she’s seven. The first is that Jillian has her first crush. She doesn’t realise that it is what it is until she talks to her dad about it.

“Dad,” She says, clambering onto one of the stools at the kitchen island so he can see her while he makes brownies for her brother’s soccer team’s bake sale.

“Yes?”

“What does it mean when your stomach flutters when you look at someone?” She asks. He chuckles.

“Well, that could mean a lot of things. What else happens when you look at them?” His hands have slowed down but not quite stopped, and he’s looking at her, not what he’s doing. She counts the tiles on the wall behind him while she thinks.

“I feel like talking to her but I can’t think of anything to say.” She says, pleased with her answer. “Sometimes my faces feels hot.” She adds.

“She?” Her dad repeats. Jillian nods. Her dad is quiet for a moment. He’s looking at the mix, and Jillian wonders what he does when he’s trying to think.

“Dad?” She asks, growing impatient. She has homework to do before she can keep reading about the process of building the Apollo space shuttle.

“It sounds like you have a crush, kiddo.”

“Oh.” She frowns. She knows what a crush is, of course, but she didn’t realise this was what it felt like. “Okay. Thanks, daddy.”

“Is that all?”

“Yep!” She jumps out of the seat and thunders upstairs to her room, ignoring when her mother yells for her to be quieter.

* * *

The second thing is that she starts taking things apart and putting them back together again. She trades her next two weeks of dessert for her brother’s remote control car. She takes every single piece of the remote out and sets it out on her desk, which she has because her dad thought she should have one because, according to him, all the best scientists have a place to work. She writes down a detailed list of all the different components and then puts it back together again. When she slips the batteries back in and the car doesn’t move she takes the controller apart and rebuilds it a second time, differently. She keeps doing that until it works, and her brother never knows what she did with it at all. She does the same with her alarm clock one weekend, and her dad catches her in the middle of dismantling it. He takes a deep breath like he does right before he yells and she speaks up before he can.

“If I can’t fix it I’ll do all the chores for a month. If I can…” she chews her lip, thinking about something she _really_ wants, “you’ll teach me about the car engine.”

“You can’t just break things like this, kiddo.”

“I’m not breaking it.” She insists. “I’m fixing it.”

“I’ll teach you about the car engine anyway.” He says. “I can get you books on mechanics. On engineering.” Jillian hasn’t looked away from the clock since before he came in.

“I’d rather you told me.” She says, poking a wire component. She keeps working as he watches her for a moment.

“Then I guess I’d better start reading.”

* * * 

The final thing is that she starts having people notice that she’s different. Jillian knows that she’s different. She’s pretty sure no one else counts while they work on other things. She’s pretty sure other people just do what they’re doing while they’re doing it, and when they’re done doing that they move onto the next thing. She’s pretty sure no one else thinks so quickly that doing two things at once helps them focus. She doesn’t like how people notice, though. They notice by saying mean things, and leaving things in her desk for her to find during class. She usually doesn’t mind what they leave - the dead mouse was a nice surprise, actually - but that only makes them say more mean things. Jillian realises she doesn’t have any real friends when she’s seven. She thinks she’s okay with it, because people are less interesting than trying to figure out how much energy it would take to jump high enough to get through the average second storey window and if the velocity would be survivable or not. And when people try to talk to her she’s usually in the middle of something really important, like drawing blueprints for a miniature catapult in the dirt with a stick, and they disrupt her process and she has to start all over again.

She was pretty sure people weren’t worth the time or effort anyway, so when they start being mean to her she comes to the conclusion that she was right.

**_12._ **

They move from Lake Placid to NYC for her mother’s work, and her dad hands her a small stack of brochures for a variety of different programs for gifted individuals in assorted areas of science to read during the five hour drive to their new house. Her eye is immediately caught by the most difficult program to get into and spends most of the ride thinking about how she can get in. She knows she would need to build something, but the question is _what_ she would be building. Jillian knows it has to be spectacular. Ground-breaking. Something never seen before. She’s jolted out of her focus when the music suddenly changes to something she vaguely recognises as Vivaldi and breathes out long and slow through her nose when she realises that her dad’s playlist of 1980’s pop music has been swapped for her mother’s choice of classical. Her mother loves to tell her how it’s been _scientifically proven_ that Mozart and Beethoven improve productivity but you can’t _move_ to it like you can to Michael Jackson or A-ha. They stop for lunch a little later and the first thing Jillian does is hand her dad the pamphlet for the program she wants to be in. He smiles at it.

“I thought you might’ve picked this one. What are you going to build?” He asks. She grins, wide.

“If I tell you, you’ll say no.”

* * *

Jillian was already familiar with having to scrounge for parts, but it’s a gleeful moment when she realises how much crap people throw out in the big city. Her mother doesn’t like her going out on her own but she’s busy and her dad is busy and her brother never gets off his Nintendo 64 so she waits until everyone is engrossed in what they’re doing before she goes out anyway. Her idea had been a long shot and the blueprints in her room had been for a project even _she_ had acknowledged was probably going to be impossible, but the components she finds are compatible with the technology she’s thinking of, so she throws on her safety goggles and gets busy at her official workbench, a metal table she dragged into the garage when her dad was getting groceries. She has _Rumors_ playing as loudly as the cassette player allows, and while she works she dances. Her mother had left a chair for her to use but Jillian prefers to stand while she works and the table isn’t the right height for her to sit while she uses it anyway. She has three days to work on it before she starts at her new school and the more she gets done the better.

Sometime after lunch on Sunday she flicks a switch and her contraption comes to life. She lifts her goggles, grinning as she punches her arms into the air.

“Eureka!” She yells, jumping onto the chair and dancing completely apart from the music. She jumps back down and flicks the switch to turn it back off, but the device crackles and she brings her arms up in time to protect her face from the _BANG_ that follows. When her lowers her arms there are scorch marks on the workbench and her invention is smoking. It looks quite lifeless and she sighs and looks back at her blueprints.

“Switch faulty, only upon _de_ activation.” She sucks air in through her teeth and hisses it back out again, counting the number of scratches in the table. “Potential degradation of wiring and/or parts due to operation?” She blows her hair out of her face and switches the music off so she can think better, and so she doesn’t pick up the device. She’s learnt not to touch things when they go wrong for at least five minutes so they can, at the very least, cool down. She shuts her eyes and mutters to herself. “Second-rate parts unable to handle activation - eleven, twelve, thirteen - miscalculation of the quantity of produced energy - twenty-five, twenty-six - flawed blueprints?” Her eyes snap open and she scans her blueprint. Finding no problems in her calculations there she pulls on her safety gloves and pokes the contraption. When she’s satisfied it won’t blow up in her face she pops the exterior casing off and huffs at what she finds.

“Confirmed deterioration of parts.” She sighs. “Conclusion; I need a bigger allowance.” She adds, pulling her goggles down and whacking the stereo back on as she began to gut it again.

* * *

“Kiddo, you know the agreement. I won’t pay for any parts unless you tell me what you’re making.” Her dad has his head buried in the car engine as he says this. Jillian taps his shoulder and points at the problem in the engine and he thanks her before ducking back in.

“I got all of it right, I just need higher quality elements.”

“Then I’ll take a look at the specs and get your stuff as soon as this is done.” He says. “You know the rules, Jill.” He keeps working while she stares at him, and after a long moment she walks up to her bench and snatches her blueprints up from where they’re rolled up and holds them out to him once she gets back to the front of the car. He sits up and wipes his hands on his jeans before he takes them from her, and whistles when he sees it.

“This works?” He asks, still looking. Jillian rocks up onto her toes with her hands clasped tightly together behind her back as she replies.

“Does a fridge run?”

“You made a laser?”

“I did, yes.” She says, grinning and breathless. “That is what I did.”

“That’s incredible.” He says, standing up. “I need to show your mum.” She taps the heels of her Docs together as he rolls the plans back up and hands them to her. “But first I need to fix the car so I can get the parts.” He stands and pulls her into a hug. “My precious mad scientist.” He murmurs, holding her tightly. She hugs him back. When he lets go she steps back and blows her hair out of her face.

“Hey,” he mumbles, “let me take a look at that.” He crouches slightly and spins her on the spot and starts trying out different hairstyles.

* * *

She starts school the next morning with her hair off her face and her mind on her half completed laser at home. She counts the tiles in the hallway as she strides up to her locker, weighing up whether or not she should stick to the aluminium shielding or not when a boy bumps shoulders with her.

“Watch it, short stuff!” He shouts. She stops and looks up at him.

“Observation of my height used as an insult. Interesting.” She smiles and keeps walking to her locker, letting his shout out ‘freak!’ roll off her back without a first thought, let alone a second. She's just opened her locker when a girl wearing thick spectacles appears.

“You just stood up to Jack?”

“Is Jack the one who walked into me?”

“Yeah,”

“Then yes, I suppose.” She begins to pack her books into her locker.

“I'm Serena.”

“Holtzmann.” She replies, without a second thought.

“That's your name?”

“My surname.” Holtzmann clarifies. “I like it.”

“I like it too.” Serena says. Holtzmann stops and looks at her. Serena is smiling shyly, and Holtzmann decides she likes it when Serena smiles.

* * *

Because she has to divide her time between school and homework now, it takes her a little longer to complete the laser the second time. She's screwing the outer casing on when there's a knock at the door to the garage. Holtzmann thinks nothing of it, then remembers that no one in her family ever knocks, so she gets to her feet and goes to the door. When she opens it Serena is standing behind it, appearing somewhat sheepish. Her expression changes to one of bewilderment, which Holtzmann guesses is to do with how she looks, her goggles still sitting over her eyes and her work clothes two sizes too big for her. She reaches up and pulls her goggles down so they're hanging around her neck.

“You're here.”

“Yeah,” Serena says, uncertain. “I asked if I could come over and you gave me your address.”

“Huh.” Holtzmann murmurs. “I'll be finished with this in approximately three minutes.” She points at the chair with her screwdriver, which is still in her hand. “You can sit there.” She goes back to her bench and puts the finishing touches on the laser. She pulls her goggles back up and almost flicks the switch, but stops when she remembers Serena is there.

“You might want to hide behind something, the was a small explosion last time I tried this.” Serena’s eyebrows lift until they're hidden by the frames of her glasses. She slowly eases off the chair and hides behind the car.

“Good choice.” Holtzmann says. She rolls her sleeves down and hits the switch. There's a moment where nothing happens, and then the laser appears, hitting the shielding and stopping.

“Holy smokes,” she whispers, tearing her goggles off. After a second she throws her fists straight and screams with delight.

“How did you do that?”

“Refinement of light particles phased through custom made lenses, powered by a small, tiny, little generator that, _yes_ , I did design myself _a-thank-you-very-much_!” Holtzmann squeals and then takes a deep breath, grasping at the air in her excitement. A moment later she notices Serena reaching out for the beam of light and she hollers and pushes her back.

“Hey, ow!” Serena yelps. Holtzmann glares are her.

“Don't touch the merchandise!” She snaps. “Watch this.” She grabs an old receipt and moves it through the laser, cutting it in half. “Very dangerous stuff, please don’t touch.” She looks at Serena, who is staring, wide-eyed. She considers telling her to take cover again but decides to slide off her goggles and hold them out to her.

“Don’t you need these?”

“Nah.” Holtzmann lies. She flicks the switch, trying to appear nonchalant. The laser powers down.

“ _Whoa_.” Serena breathes. Holtzmann smirks.

* * *

Holtzmann bursts into her room triumphantly and throws herself onto her bed. Serena lingers at the door, looking around the room carefully. The only things that have been removed from boxes are books and clothes, and her room looks like a dump. She steps in and picks up the first book she finds and frowns.

“Have you unpacked at all? You’ve been here a week, haven’t you?”

“Only the essentials.” Holtzmann says, rolling over. Serena looks at the book in her hands.

“Problem Book in Relativity and Gravitation is an ‘essential’?”

“Sure.” Holtzmann says, sitting up. “Give it here.” Serena does, and watches as Holtzmann flicks through it. “I’m taking my time with it, skipping the ones that look too hard.”

“They _all_ look _impossible_ . What is this, anyway?”

“Particle physics.” Holtzmann replies, looking over one of the questions. She gets a notebook out of her bedside table and flicks it open as Serena perches herself on the edge of the bed. “This is mostly theoretical stuff, which is good but not as fun as practical.” She wrinkles her nose. “But practical is dangerous when you don’t know theory, so I eat my vegetables.”

“This _all_ looks like vegetables to me.” Serena laughs. Holtzmann crosses out an answer with notable determination and flicks to a new page before double checking the question in the textbook.

“It’s not all nuclear physics in here - there’s some stuff on munitions, cryptids, cars… ” She pauses with a grin. “It’s mostly physics, though.”

“ _Nuclear_ physics?”

“Ya-huh.”

“Was that laser powered by nuclear energy?” Serena asks. Holtzmann looks up from her paper.

“No, of course not.” She answers. “Dad won’t buy me parts for that and it’s not really something people leave lying around.”

“I guess not.” Serena says. “Are you going to do that the whole time I’m here?”

“I was planning on it. Do you mind?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Oh.” Holtzmann slides her pencil to the binder and closes the notebook. “Okay.” She sets the notebook into the textbook and then closes that, creating a hideous book-turducken. She puts it on her bedside table and crosses her legs, boots on the comforter. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” Serena shrugs. “How did you get into science?”

* * *

She qualifies for the physics sector of the program. Holtzmann is excited because she'll finally have a more suitable workspace and actual lectures, so no more having to decipher college textbooks on her own. Holtzmann is excited because maybe she will finally meet someone like herself and she'll have a proper friend, because Serena doesn't like talking about science and their friendship, which had initially appeared to Holtzmann as having unlimited potential, came to a grinding halt shortly after Serena had visited her house.

Except all the kids are boys and boys are gross, and boys are especially gross when they play spot the difference and Holtzmann knows that already because she is _always_ the difference. She doesn't let it bother her. In a few short weeks they move her out of the middle school group and into the high school one, and this time she isn't the only girl there but she is the youngest, but no one seems to care very much about that.

**_13._ **

Holtzmann has never much liked feelings or having them or thinking about them, because if she does she gets sad, and also they waste time. She has no memory of a conversation she had six years earlier. She's only barely able to walk up to her dad.

“Dad?” Usually when she counts it staves off any of that business but she can't seem to escape this train of thought. He looks up at her from where he's cleaning the oven and freezes, recognising the severity of the situation.

“Jill?”

Holtzmann bursts into tears.

Her dad moves so quickly he hits his head against the roof of the oven but he still has Holtzmann wrapped up in his arms in a second. She’s finally tall enough that while he’s hugging her on his knees it’s awkward but she folds into him and sobs loudly, all the energy she’d been using to keep it in spilling over - _fallout_. She doesn’t remember it happening, but her dad moved so she was cradled into his lap, being rocked back and forth carefully as he shushes her that way parents do when their children cry, one arm around her waist and the other curved up so her can run his fingers through the loose hairs below her bun, and she’s comforted. When she finally pulls away there’s a wet patch on the shoulder of his shirt, but he says nothing of it.

“What is it, Jill?” He asks, calm. She swallows, considers lying but can’t think of something else to say in place of the truth. Holtzmann doesn’t know where to look - his face? Over his shoulder? At the floor? - so she presses back into him again, closing her eyes with her chin on his shoulder. She hesitates a moment now, trying to guess what happens next.

“I think I’m gay.” She whispers, her hands twisting and gripping the back of his shirt, her watching the patterns behind her eyelids move. For a moment nothing happens, then he hugs her more tightly for a moment, fiercely, but not so tightly it hurts. He doesn’t say anything.

Holtzmann, later, withdraws, and when she looks at his face he talks.

“I would like to talk about this, kiddo, but not for any bad reasons. Is that okay?” She nods, and he nods back. “Okay. Do you want tea?” She nods again. “Alright. Get up, go wash your face, and by the time you’re back I’ll have the kettle on, how’s that sound?”

Holtzmann knows it’s not a proper answer to the question but she nods a third time and gets up, brushes herself off and retreats from the kitchen.

* * *

She freezes up when she’s in the bathroom, takes as long as she can by washing her hands twice and doing her hair again and counting all the little tiles at the bottom of the shower and only then does she go back out and sit at the dining table, where her dad is waiting. Her tea is ready, inside her mug on top of her coaster. He waits for her to take a sip before he speaks up.

“You said you _think_ ,” He starts, “which is odd, because I don’t remember the last time you said something you weren’t certain of. Did you say think because you aren’t certain, or because you were worried about how I would react?”

“I’m certain.”

“Okay.” He rubs his chin for a moment. “You’re kinda young to be figuring this out.” He says. Holtzmann shrugs.

“I’m kinda young to be studying nuclear engineering, too.”

“You’ve got me there.” He murmurs. “Do you want to tell mom?”

“ _No_!” She folds back into her seat as soon as the word escapes her mouth. She looks away and keeps her hands tight around her mug.

“It’s alright kiddo, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.” Her dad seems comfortable, more comfortable than Holtzmann herself, who waits before she says the thing truly bothering her.

“Is it okay?” Deep down, Holtzmann doesn’t think there really is anything wrong with it, but she isn’t certain. The results are inconclusive. Her dad sighs.

“ _I_ think it’s fine. A lot of people agree with me - a lot of people don’t.” He searches for her eye contact but she keeps looking away. “I believe it’s totally unimportant, either way.” He reaches across the table and pokes her hand, and she looks at him. “You know what I think is more important?” Holtzmann doesn’t reply for a moment so he continues. “You are a scientist. You’re my _daughter_. These two things are the most important things about you. If anyone ever tells you otherwise, they’re full of shit.”

“You swore.” Holtzmann says, a small smile creeping onto her face.

“I did. Don’t tell your mom.” He winks and her smile grows into a grin.

* * *

When the door to the lab swings open, Holtzmann doesn’t flinch. She notices, but she’s busy. The contraption she’s working on is highly volatile, and she spent _ages_ convincing the head of the physics department in the program to let her do it and she’s not going to blow it. Partly because of her efforts, partly because if she screws this up that could be a very _literal_ description of the consequences. She continues to work as the woman who entered looks around at what every in the room is doing - passes Holtzmann twice before finally stopping and watching over her shoulder. The woman has the courtesy to wait until after Holtzmann has finished a task before she clears her throat. Holtzmann stops, sets her tools down and turns, enormous grin plastered to her face as she pushes her goggles up. The woman is wearing glasses, and looks like she’s seen things more impressive than a thirteen year old working on a practical application of nuclear physics. After a long moment of silence, Holtzmann holds her hand out.

“You are?” She asks. The woman shakes her hand.

“Dr. Abigail Yates.”

“Holtzmann, Jillian.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen.” Holtzmann says. The safety coats don’t leave the labs, so Holtzmann looks almost comical with the jacket reaching halfway down her calves. The gloves aren’t hers either, so the only things she has on that fit are her own clothes and her goggles. The woman considers her for a moment.

“Why are you here?”

“Why are _you_ here?” Holtzmann responds, with good reason. Holtzmann spends most of her free time in this lab. Abby is the outsider.

“I just finished my PhD and I’m looking for interns interested in working with me.” Abby says. Holtzmann nods slowly, looking around.

“Okay, why are you _here_?”

“Talking to you?” Abby asks. Holtzmann nods. She assumes Abby knows she can’t take a thirteen-year old as an intern, but they’re still having a conversation.

“Well, I wanted to see what you were doing. Why are you here?”

“I like science.” Holtzmann says. “I like physics, the study of the movement of bodies and space. I like to know how things work.”

“You’re a little younger than everyone else.”

“Yes,” Holtzmann agrees. “I make things better. Optimise.” She reaches back without looking and pats the device. “Actualise.” At that, Abby perks up somewhat.

“What do you think of ghosts?”

Holtzmann frowns, thinks it might be a trick. She knows ghosts aren’t real, but she knows that lots of people think they are. She knows that Giordano Bruno was right when he thought stars were suns and had their own exoplanetary systems but lots of people thought he was wrong so they executed him. She counts the number of buttons in Abby’s outfit while she thinks of an answer.

“I think there’s insufficient data.” Holtzmann settles on her answer, and Abby seems to like it, hands her a card.

“Keep this.” She instructs. “Call me when you graduate.”

“From high school or college?” Holtzmann asks.

“I don’t really think it matters.”

**_15._ **  

“What does it do?” The professor, Dr. Rebecca Gorin, is a woman with wild curly hair and Holtzmann thinks she’s the best thing she’s ever seen. The grin hasn’t left her face since she walked in.

“It’s a magnet.” Holtzmann answers. Gorin looks down at her over her glasses. Holtzmann sees her glance at the head of the program who nods excitedly.

“Just a magnet?”

“ _Pfft_ ,” Holtzmann puffs. “Nothing I build is ‘just’ anything.” Gorin looks unimpressed, so she launches into a speech about how she designed it and what should happen when she turns it on.

“Excuse me, but have you only _theorised_ what will happen when you turn it on?”

“I had to make some adjustments from the last time I tested it.” Holtzmann explains. Gorin nods stiffly.

“Well, get on with it then.” She says. Holtzmann keeps grinning as she turns the machine on.

* * *

“There’s good news and bad news, kiddo.” Her dad says it quietly, nervously glancing at his wife as he talks. “The bad news is you’re out of the program and they’ve contacted basically all of the alternatives, so… You’ve been blacklisted from any gifted youth physics programs in the city.”

Holtzmann is lying in a hospital bed. Her brother is sitting in the chair closest to the door, eyes glued to his Gameboy. Her mother is standing behind her dad, and her dad is holding her hand - the one at the end of the arm that didn’t get broken.

“The good news is no one else got hurt and the people who own the building aren’t going to press charges because you gave up the magnet to the police. The better part is, that professor who was there to see your machine?”

“Dr. Gorin?” Holtzmann’s heartbeat speeds up.

“Yes, Dr. Gorin. She reached out to me. She wants to tutor you in particle physics.”

* * *

No longer having access to the program, Holtzmann returns to dumpster diving for her parts, and at some point while she’s doing this she starts thrifting for her clothes. She’s in the Bronx - much too far from home for her mother to be comfortable but she has a metro card for a _reason_ \- when she passes a Goodwill and goes inside on a whim. The first thing she sees a vest, obviously meant for a man, looking like it belonged in the 1930s. She purchases it on the spot, with the last of the money she had made that week tutoring. She ends up altering it herself, but is pleased with the result.

* * *

Dr. Gorin teaches her theory and observes her inventions, encourages her to correctly document her process and gives suggestion however infrequently it’s needed. However, a roadblock is eventually reached.

“You need to activate the device eventually, Jillian.” Gorin sighs. Holtzmann frowns.

“It’s not fully optimised.”

“You shouldn’t be afraid of what you create.” Gorin says. “Though I must admit, your interest in munitions doesn’t fill me with confidence.” Holtzman scowls at the device in question, an attempt at an invisibility cloak, and shakes her head.

“Alright, Jillian. How about we try something else?” Gorin asks. Holtzmann nods.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey team! Thank you for the lovely response to the first chapter!
> 
> Just a heads up, there's some stuff in here that people might find triggering, having a bad experience coming out kind of thing. 
> 
> I hope you all like it, and the third chapter is on the way! :)
> 
> Rachel x

**_16._ **

Holtzmann sits by the doorway, concealed from view as her mother and Gorin argue.

“She isn’t _ready_ , Rebecca!” Her mother’s voice is a hushed whisper, and Holtzmann knows she shouldn’t be listening but it won’t stop her. Gorin knows exactly where she is, and Holtzmann frowns for a moment, that her tutor knows her better than her own mother.

“She’s perfectly ready and has been since before I began to tutor her. The program held her back because the longer she stayed there the more money you would give them.” Gorin holds none of the same reservations as Holtzmann’s mother, speaking clearly. “Your daughter needs a degree. She needs a _doctorate_.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Her mother hisses. Holtzmann flinches, shuts her eyes, starts counting. She doesn’t need to count anything specific anymore, just counts until she feels better. “Jillian isn’t ready for college.”

Holtzmann has spent entire days counting.

“You underestimate her.” Gorin says, plainly. “Perhaps you are right, and she isn’t ready. But she has the capacity to adapt.” There’s a long silence. Holtzmann stands up and steps into the doorway - both women look at her. She looks at her mother.

“I can stay here.” She says. “New York has good colleges.” Her mother still seems concerned. Gorin doesn’t seem anything at all.

“Then it’s settled.” The professor states, eventually. “Jillian will go to college.”

* * *

In some ways her mother is right, and she’s not ready for college at all. In other ways, she’s been ready for a long, long time. Holtzmann learns three crucial things in college. The first is that Gorin was right, she has the capacity to adapt. The second, Gorin was right again, the program had been holding her back. That discovery makes Holtzmann uncomfortable; she had been under the impression that she didn’t let things get in her way, but the ease with which she grasps the content of her courses can only attest to Gorin’s theory. The third, well. There are a lot of girls at Columbia. A lot of girls who aren’t afraid to be who they are. Holtzmann decides she wants to be like that.

* * *

Her mother sends her to a therapist. They talk about lots of things, mostly how Holtzmann counts. Sometimes about how Holtzmann is _odd_ , and not just because she likes science.

“Your mother told me she was worried that you haven’t shown any interest in boys yet.” Holtzmann is grateful her therapist is a woman. She can already tell this conversation will be uncomfortable. “Do you think she has any reason to be concerned?”

“I don’t know any boys my age.” Holtzmann says, unfazed. She knows it’s not bad, but she knows some people think it is. “Besides, I’m too busy for that.”

“Lots of people maintain relationships during college, Jillian.”

“How many sixteen year olds?” Holtzmann counters. The therapist sits back.

“Are you ever lonely?”

“Nope.” Holtzmann pops the ‘p’ and slouches in her seat.

* * *

She’s at a barbeque on the campus when a girl bumps into her.

“Hey,” She smiles with dark eyes and dark hair and Holtzmann likes it. “I’m Maria.”

“Holtzmann.” She holds her hand out, and Maria shakes it with a laugh.

“My sister is in one of your classes.”

“Oh?” Holtzmann’s eyebrows climb upwards. She doesn’t really speak to any of her classmates, so this is a surprise to her.

“Yeah. She’s supposed to give me a lift to something later but said she wouldn’t drive all the way back home to pick me up.” Maria tucks her hands into her pockets, shrugging. “She said you were my age.”

“How old are you?”

“I just turned seventeen.”

“ _Fascinating_.” Holtzmann grins. “Are you in high school?”

“Nowhere else for me to be,” Maria chuckles. “I’m not a genius apparent. Most of us aren’t, you know.” Holtzmann is delighted to learn that her reputation precedes her. Maria knocks their elbows together and Holtzmann feels like a puppy wearing shoes. “What’s your major?”

“Physics.” Holtzmann swallows. “Are you bored? Here?” She swallows again, tries to stop counting the number of freckles on Maria’s nose, takes a breath. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

“Do you have something in mind?” Maria asks, and Holtzmann might be wrong but she thinks Maria is blushing. She can’t check, according to the observer effect. She hates the observer effect.

“I know a really cool cafe two blocks from here.” Holtzmann says, nodding in the general direction. Maria squints, looks over her shoulder - presumably for her sister - then looks back.

“Don’t you have to stay?”

“Nah.” Holtzmann shrugs. “I’ve already talked to all the professors I needed to - this event is more for the students doing badly.” She adjusts her safety glasses carefully. “What do you say?”

“Let’s go.” Maria says.

* * *

“What’s your first name?”

“Irrelevant.” Holtzmann says, her smile hidden by her milkshake. Maria pouts.

“Is it something awful? Bethel? Gertrude? _Atlanta_?”

“No,” Holtzmann interjects. “I just don’t like it. If I don’t tell people what it is, they don’t know to call me by it.”

“I have an idea.” Maria says, using her teaspoon to mess with the foam of her coffee. “If we hang out a second time, you tell me then, and I’ll already be used to calling you Holtzmann.” The smile on Maria’s face makes Holtzmann feel warm, and she nods without really realising. Maria beams and Holtzmann beams back.  
“Then it’s settled.” Maria says. Holtzmann sees an opportunity.

“I guess we’ll have to hang out again, then.”

“I guess we will.” Maria agrees, and Holtzmann is certain she’s blushing this time. She takes a sip of her milkshake and Maria does the same with her coffee.

“So, how does a sixteen year old get into physics at Columbia?” Maria asks, after a beat. Holtzmann keeps drinking for a moment longer.

“Dedicated and thorough study.” She says. Maria gives her a look and Holtzmann sits up, fixes her collar - her collar was fine.

“Okay, also having an IQ of 157 probably helps.”

“ _Whoa_ \- are you serious?”

“Completely.” Holtzmann says, intently holding Maria’s eye contact. A moment of silence passes where they only look at one another. Then, Maria starts to laugh.

“I actually was _joking_ when I called you a genius earlier, Einstein.”

* * *

They go back to the barbeque when they’re done at the cafe but the event is still in full swing and Maria spots her sister mid-schmooze. Holtzmann is ready to say goodbye when Maria faces her.

“Do you want to keep walking around?”

“Um,” Holtzmann stutters, not expecting the offer. “Yes. Let’s.” It’s cold enough that they both walk with their hands in their pockets, but their elbows brush almost every other step. They don’t talk but Holtzmann doesn’t feel it’s awkward. She counts the bricks in the pavement while she wonders if Maria could like her. Like, _like_ her. She sneaks a glance at the taller girl and decides she doesn’t really mind as long as they can keep seeing each other, but at the same time _really_ hopes Maria is gay.

“Are those prescription glasses?” Maria asks. The question neatly derails Holtzmann’s train of thought and she is forced to spend a moment trying to figure out what it is Maria said.

“These?” She touches the side of her goggles lightly. “No,” She giggles, breathless, “I found these in an antique store.” She takes them off and lets Maria look at them more closely. “This is what safety goggles looked like in the 50s.”

“Did you spend a long time looking for them?”

“No,” Holtzmann slides them back on, “I thought they looked cool, assumed they were for safety because of the grille on the sides. I wore them to a practical lecture and the professor spent ten minutes afterwards telling me about how he used to wear a pair like mine when _he_ was a student.”

“So why are you wearing them now?” Maria asks. Holtzmann squints up at her.

“Do they look good?” She asks. They stop walking and Maria observes her for a long moment.

“They definitely catch the eye,”

“But do they look good?” Holtzmann presses. Maria blushes again.

“Yes,” She says, shaking her hair off her shoulder. “They suit you.”

“And that’s why I wear them.” Holtzmann says. They start walking again. Conversation flows easily, and by the time they reach the barbeque again Maria has given Holtzmann her phone number.

It takes all of Holtzmann’s self control not to ring the number as soon as she gets home.

* * *

It’s cold enough now that Holtzmann doesn’t like having the garage door open while she works. However, this particular Saturday morning she has the garage door open and the cold air is tickling her ankles where her socks don’t reach, but she knows that if she leaves the door shut while she’s welding it gets unbearably hot. She’s got her motorcycle goggles on and for the first time she wonders if she should put a clock over her desk. She furrows her brow, focusing on the work at hand. She finishes, sets her tools down with a sigh and pushes her goggles up.  
“Is your hair always like that?” Holtzmann whirls, wields the blowtorch like a knife and only relaxes once she realises it’s Maria. She rolls her eyes at Maria’s smirk and puts the blowtorch back down.

“Have you never been told not to sneak up on a girl with power tools?” Holtzmann saunters up to Maria, reaches up and brushes nonexistent dust off her shoulders before linking her hands behind her neck.

“You know, I’m not familiar with that particular adage.” Maria teases.

“No?”

“Mm. No.”

“Holtzmann, November 2000.” Holtzmann glances over Maria’s shoulder at the street and then back at the door leading inside the house before rising onto her toes and giving Maria a quick peck on the lips. When she pulls away Maria follows, just for a moment, and they kiss again before finally stepping apart.

“You didn't answer my question.”

“What's that?” Holtzmann asks as she pulls her goggles and lab coat off.

“Is your hair always like that?”

“Mmhm.” Holtzmann hums, throwing on her leather jacket. “Where are we going?”

“You'll see.”

* * *

“I’m really proud of you, Jillian.” Initially, Holtzmann thinks she imagines the words. Thinks them so strongly they sound like they come from outside her head and she’s walked all the way past the kitchen and into the next room before she realises and stops. For a second she’s frozen in place, but then she’s turning and striding back into the dining room, ignoring how the tools in her pockets make her coat swing around her body as she goes. She looks through the aperture into the kitchen, where her mother is standing, looking equally as confused as Holtzmann does.

“Did you say something?” Holtzmann asks. Her mother shifts, clearly uncomfortable.

“I was just saying how _proud_ of you I am.” She repeats. Holtzmann knows, deep down, that she isn’t being quirky when she frowns. She’s being rude.

“Of what?” Holtzmann’s stomach is fluttering, equal parts excitement, dread, and hope. Her mother puts down the tea towel she had been folding and walks into the dining room.

“Oh, Jillian,” She puts her hands on Holtzmann’s shoulders and squeezes. Holtzmann finds their height difference alarming. “For the longest time I thought - oh I don’t know what I thought. I’m so happy you’ve found a friend.” Her mother beams and Holtzmann smiles back, automatically. She smiles because she’s good at smiling and she always has been. She smiles despite the sensation of her insides all flipping over and deflating at once. Her mother hugs her tightly and Holtzmann hugs her back.

**_17._ **

Holtzmann almost jumps out of her skin when a hand slips into her back pocket. She slams her head into the hood of the car and drops the spanner into the engine.

“Ouch.” She murmurs, rubbing the back of her head. Maria chuckles and gently moves Holtzmann’s hand away to press a kiss to the back of her head.

“Sorry,” She says. Maria then reaches out and turns the radio off. “Maybe if you didn’t have _Songs from the Big Chair_ on at full volume…” Maria trails off.  
“It’s a good album.” Holtzmann defends, fishing for her spanner. “Hands off the merchandise, my mom is still here.” Maria slides her hand back out of the pocket with a disappointed hum.

“Are you going to tell her?” She asks. Holtzmann snorts.

“Are you kidding? I might as well use silver as an insulator.” She digs up the tool and smiles, triumphant. When she turns her head to look at Maria she frowns.

“I can’t _tell_ her, Mar.” She says, tossing the spanner into the toolbox. Maria sighs and puts her hand on Holtzmann’s hip, Holtzmann lets her pull them closer together but not without glancing at the door. She takes her goggles off, risks cupping Maria’s cheek and leaning up to kiss her. When she stops she lowers her head and her hand at the same time. “I’m sorry.”

“Not a problem.” Maria clears her throat. “So,” She pats the side of the car. “When are you taking me for a ride?”

“All that’s left is changing the oil.” Holtzmann puts her glasses back on and sniggers as she starts to pack up her tools. “I got lubricant on your face.”

“Geez, Holtzmann, I thought your mom was home.” Maria teases. Holtzmann doesn’t reply, just wipes her hands on a rag and then throws it at her. Just as they step out of the garage, Holtzmann’s mother hurries through the hallway and opens the front door.

“Lock the door behind me, girls! Jillian, your brother is at Eric’s house so you don’t need to worry about him.”

“Thanks, mom!” Holtzmann shouts. The front door slams shut and the two girls stay silent for a moment while they listen to Holtzmann’s mother pulling away from the curb and driving away in the car Holtzmann isn’t working on.

“Movie?” Holtzmann suggests, finally.

“Pulp Fiction?”

“That can be arranged.”

* * *

They’ve nearly been caught a handful of times. It’s never so close that it makes Holtzmann worry, but that’s only because she’s attentive enough that it doesn’t matter either way. Either they wait for her mother to leave, or they go somewhere else, or they don’t play loud music. Usually Holtzmann hears her coming.

Today, Holtzmann doesn’t hear her mother coming.

What she does hear is groceries and her mother’s purse and keys hitting the ground. She hears these things and throws herself off of her girlfriend, creates as much distance between the two of them as she can but knows that it’s - _one two three four five six seven eight_ \- too late. Maria stands up, puts herself between the couch and Holtzmann’s mother.

“Get out of my house.” Holtzmann doesn’t gauge who the words are meant for.

“Maria, get in the car.”

“If you think-”

“Holtz-”

Her mother and her girlfriend both stop when they speak over each other. For a moment that feels like a lifetime to Holtzmann, but is only really one sickening second, Maria looks at her.

“Okay.” She whispers, taking the long way to the garage to avoid walking past Holtzmann’s mother. Neither of them moves, not until they hear the garage door opening.

“Jillian,”

“No, mom.” Holtzmann feels her insides twist. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” And with that, Holtzmann follows Maria’s path and meets her at the car, sits in the driver’s seat. Maria sits in the front passenger seat.

“I thought you needed to change the oil?” She asks, her voice small.

“She’ll make it.” Holtzmann murmurs, starting the engine.

* * *

Holtzmann doesn’t go back for a few days. Maria’s family are more than happy to let her stay while she sorts things out, and she’s got her own car to get to and from college with. She calls Gorin with shaking hands on the first night, asks what she should do.

“Why are you asking me?”

“I don’t-” Holtzmann stutters, halts. The rhythm of her thoughts is all wrong. “You know me better than she does.”

“That’s not _difficult_ , Jillian.” Gorin sighs. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” Holtzmann replies, fingers worming into her hair. “I don’t - _shit_.” Holtzmann hangs up. She calls again two hours later, leaves a voice message apologising. Maria finds her with the phone pressed to her ear, stuttering and chewing her fingernail. As soon as she’s done, Maria steps forward and takes the phone from her gently.

“It’s going to be okay, Holtzmann.” She presses a kiss to Holtzmann’s forehead and wishes she knew how to help. Holtzmann leans into her and Maria holds her close.

* * *

What sends Holtzmann back to her house is the necessity for clothing and tools. It's all well and good for her to wear Maria’s old clothes but they're too big for her and besides that she _really_ needs to pick up her textbooks. Her mind is all muddled up and she can barely remember her own schedule, let alone her mother’s. She parks on the street - for a second she thinks her mother actually _is_ out of the house but she realises in the same moment that her mother’s car may well be parked inside the garage for once. She takes a steadying breath before she gets out of the car and walks across the road. She opens the front door and scampers to the garage first, and sighs with relief when the car is nowhere to be found. Her workbench is a mess, and she hurries to pack everything up. She drops her tools off in her car before returning to the house and going to her bedroom. She pulls her suitcase out from under the bed and starts throwing clothes in it. She's in the middle of this when she hears someone walking up the stairs. For a fleeting second Holtzmann considers hiding under her bed but she knows the attempt to hide would be entirely futile. Instead she steels herself as her mother enters the doorway.

“Jillian-” Her mother halts, takes in the sight of her daughter, caught frantic and wild. Holtzmann clutches a graphic tee to her chest. She watches as her mother’s arms lower, slowly, from where they had been hanging in the air.

“Jillian, you don’t need to do this.” Her mother’s voice is condescending, and Holtzmann feels her gut twist, feels a pressure on her shoulders that has been _building_ like the numbers she counts, and for a second Holtzmann isn’t thinking about anything at all, other than where her threshold is. How much can she take of this?

“I don’t?” Her voice is small, high, and young. For the first time in years Holtzmann sounds properly like a child. Her mother shakes her head.

“No, no, honey, of course not.”

Relief soaks through Holtzmann’s skin, and her grip on the shirt loosens.

“All that needs to happen is for you to stay away from that _girl_.”

Holtzmann discovers her threshold. She can’t count away this feeling. She doesn’t _want_ to count it away.  
“No, mom.”

“Jillian, whatever _phase_ -”

“No!” Holtzmann shouts. “This isn't a _phase_ and it's not because of Maria. This has - mom, I've known since I was _twelve_.”

“Honey all you need is to meet a nice boy-” Holtzmann cuts her off with a sound that doesn’t quite make it to being an actual word, but it _is_ loud and it _does_ make her mother stop talking for a moment. She picks the first thing she can think to say.

“You like me for all the wrong reasons.” She stops, trying to chase after the train of thought. “Last year, for the _first_ _time_ , you said you were proud of me, and it was because I made a friend.” She looks up at her mother, shakes her head. “I’m not leaving because you caught me with my girlfriend. I’m leaving because there’s nothing here for me.”

“Jill, I-”

“Don’t call me that.” Holtzmann interrupts. “You don’t call me that.” Her mother closes her mouth, just for a second.

“You think I’m not proud of you?” Her mother asks, and she feels her resolve breaking.

“Not when you should be.” She says, throwing the shirt at the suitcase. “Not when I get into a prestigious science program, not when I get into one of the best colleges for physics in the country, not when I know how to fix the car, not when I tailor my own clothes, not when I can do _any_ of the things that I do because I want to or because I _care_ .” Holtzmann feels like she might throw up. She keeps talking. “You’re proud of me when I’m normal and, and guess what, mom, I’m _not_. I’m _weird_.” She pauses, catches her breath, sets her chin. “And I like that I’m weird. I do, I truly do. So, so I’m going to pack up my stuff, and I’m going to go.” She looks at her bag for a second. “I’m going to fold my clothes and take my time, and you’re going to let me do this.”

“Jillian, you're not leaving this house. Not like this.” Her mother says. “I forbid you.”

“ _No_. I’m packing and leaving and I’m going to figure it out. Maybe you’ll read about me in the news one day, maybe you won’t. It doesn’t matter. I’m _going_.”

**_18._ **

When Holtzmann is all packed up to leave, Maria gives her a necklace. The two haven’t been dating for months, but Maria’s parents let Holtzmann stay with them anyway. They tell her it’s important for her to have a home. Maria agrees. They don't talk.

“What’s this?” Holtzmann asks, hanging the necklace from her finger.

“IQ of 157 and can’t figure out a simple visual pun?” Maria teases, smiling weakly. Holtzmann looks again, can’t help from grinning.

“You made this for me, huh? Guess those soldering lessons didn’t go to waste.” She winks, and feels a little bad when Maria flinches. She puts the necklace on.

“I love it.”

“I knew you would.” Maria says, her voice as fragile as her smile. “Show MIT who’s boss, Jill.” Holtzmann drops her duffel bag and steps forward, wraps her arms around Maria and squeezes until she’s being hugged back.

“I will.”

**_20._ **

It’s no secret on the MIT campus that Holtzmann is the reigning champ of one night stands. She doesn’t discriminate between hookups - she doesn’t care if a girl is straight or gay, in or out of the closet, never kisses and tells and even, on occasion, assists girls with their coursework afterwards. If they ask her nicely. It’s fairly easy to find her on campus, she’s usually in the lab or the library, and she shows up at parties fairly frequently. She’s never _really_ invited but no one is mad when she shows up, because her third claim to fame is being a crowd pleaser. Holtzmann may still not have gotten the hang of friendships, but she _excels_ at acquaintanceships and her bizarre sensibilities make Holtzmann a popular name around the campus.

Besides, no one does homemade fireworks like Jillian Holtzmann.

All that aside, she’s still primarily known as “most likely to be approached by men in suits and sunglasses” and she doesn’t put effort into the reputation. It’s just how she is.

**_22._ **

She fast tracks her PhD because she has no reason not to, and - surprising nobody - she gets offered a job almost at the same time as receiving her doctorate. It’s so top secret she doesn’t actually know what her job is, exactly, she just has access to a lab that makes her scream with joy when she sees it for the first time, and all she has to do to keep it is build the things they tell her to build. It starts out as telescopes, radars, engines, develops into ridiculous things that appear to have no direct correlation to one another whatsoever, and she continues to build them.

**_24._ **

They ask if she can build an anti-gravity gun, and she has the specs ready in two weeks. The first four prototypes don’t work, but it’s only a matter of time before she cracks it. She calls Gorin once it’s finished - she’s not supposed to but her mentor has never been loose-lipped in the past.

“You mean to tell me that you’ve been working for the government in this way since you left college?”

“Yeah,” Holtzmann replies with a mouth full of pins, in the middle of hemming a pair of pants and the phone jammed between her ear and her shoulder. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Jillian, and I don’t say this lightly, you should be changing the world.” Gorin says. Holtzmann pauses, takes the pins from her mouth and disentangles herself from the table, carefully picks her way across her apartment, counting all the stray bits of machinery as she goes.

“I am changing the world - I completed a device today that defies the laws of physics, I didn’t think there was any more to change.”

“That gun is going to be locked into a safe until they figure out a practical use for it. Jillian, they have you employed so you can’t make trouble.” Gorin states. “You haven’t noticed because the benefits have distracted you.”

“Then what should I do?” Holtzmann asks. She can’t spend her life writing papers for publication. Her chops are bigger than that. _That_ would be a waste. She has no desire for a wife or a family, no real reason to behave truly like someone her age.

“Child, when have I ever known what you should do?”

“I’m 24.”

“And you still need me to coddle you.” Gorin says. There’s a long pause. “Tell me more about the science, it _is_ fascinating.”

Holtzmann explains, goes back to her sewing, but is already thinking about what she’s going to do next.

**_25._ **

It takes her another year to really make a decision, mostly because she will _never_ see a lab like this one again, and when her job is to build a properly functioning hovercar she can’t really complain. When she tells them she wants to leave, they immediately scramble to offer her other work, all of which she declines. She’s in the middle of packing up her apartment when she receives a call from an unknown number, answers tentatively and is offered a position in the European Organisation of Nuclear Physics.

“I’m American.” She replies, frowning.

“We could pretend you’re German - Holtzmann sounds German.”

“No thank you.” She answers, right before hanging up and sliding her phone back into her pocket. She finishes loading everything into boxes and drives back to New York City.

* * *

She’s halfway through unpacking in her new apartment when she changes her mind about what she’s doing again. She collapses back onto a couch she’d paid three random people on the street to help her bring up to the apartment and sighs, looking at her mess of a living room. Admittedly, her stuff is _usually_ a mess, but she always knows where everything is despite that. She spots a box that she hasn’t opened in seven years and gets up to drag it over to the couch. She opens it and is faced with all of her papers from her old house. She’s going through it slowly, has just reached the official certificate commemorating her entry into that old, since discontinued, science program when a small card slips out and lands on the floor. It goes underneath the couch and she tosses the papers to the side in favour of diving to the floor and retrieving the card. It reads:

_Abby Yates - Leading Researcher in the Field of Paranormal Entities and Occurrences_

With a list of accolades underneath. She turns the card over and there is a phone number. She vaguely remembers a woman interrupting her when she was thirteen, foggily recalls a pair of glasses and the general air of having been trodden on.

Holtzmann calls the number.

**_26._ **

It takes her _sixth months_ to track Dr. Abby Yates down, and in the process discovers the woman’s plight of having to hop from college to college in the tri-state area. She finally finds herself walking into a college that was founded six years earlier, the Kenneth P. Higgins Institute of Science. When she gets out of the taxi the cab driver scoffs at the building, makes a rude comment. She ignores him, though confesses internally that the building didn’t look like any person of renown should be inside. She pulls the business card out of her pocket and rereads Abby’s credentials, before squinting at the college again.

“Alright.” She hums, putting the card away and striding up to the building. She checks the map of the building and walks down to the basement, stops in front of the door reading PARANORMAL STUDIES LABORATORY and the name placard _Dr. Abigail L. Yates_ underneath. She steps inside.

“Hold it right there!” Is shouted from the opposite end of the lab. She halts, examines the room. There’s a level of disarray that she finds comfort in, but is disappointed by the sheer lack of tech in the room. It’s mostly papers and whiteboards with equations on them, which is fine, but Holtzmann has dedicated herself to the practical application of physics and there only seems to be a lot of _theorising_ happening here.

“Who are you?” Abby’s head pops out from behind one of the whiteboards. She looks tired, and lonely.

“Dr. Jillian Holtzmann, PhD.” Holtzmann replies. “Thirteen years ago you gave me a card and told me to call when I graduated.”

“I did?” Abby asks, coming up to her, snatching the card from her hand.

“You did.”

“How old are you?”

“26.”

“I gave my card to a thirteen year old and told her to call me when she graduated?”

“You did, yes.” Holtzmann nods. “I’m a little late though, I finished my degree about four years ago.” She folds her arms and leans against the doorway. Abby frowns.

“What were you doing in the meantime?”

“Classified.” Holtzmann shrugs. Abby’s eyebrows rise, slightly.

“Why are you here?”

“I want to work with you.” Holtzmann peers around the room again. “Seems like fun.” Abby squints.

“I’m going to tell you something, Jilli-”

“Holtzmann is fine.” Holtzmann says, quickly. Abby nods.

“Holtzmann, I’m going to tell you something, and then you can decide whether or not you want to work with me.”

“Alright.”

“I have dedicated the last thirteen years of my life to the study of the paranormal - _ghosts_ \- and I have discovered nothing. All I have is my faith and my calculations.”

“Okay.” Holtzmann nods. “Can I start now?” She walks into the lab, picks a desk that has a relatively empty surface and dumps her bag on it. She starts unpacking her equipment and glances up at Abby with a grin, “Because I think I can help with your no-discoveries problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think at my tumblr!
> 
> http://downhilltumbler.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**_27._ **

Abby tells her about a woman named Erin who abandoned ship just after they published a book together, and how the sting of the betrayal lingers and motivates her work. Holtzmann nods and listens, looks Erin up and discovers that she works at Columbia and considers sneaking in to one of her lectures. Then she thinks about what Abby’s face would do if she found out and settles on reading Erin’s publications.

They're brilliant.

Holtzmann wonders if Abby ever reads Erin’s papers. She never asks.

Abby tells her about her family, her lovely nieces and nephews and siblings. Abby tells her everything there is to tell and Holtzmann nods and listens and works on the EVP detector. Holtzmann babbles about physics and components and plays music in the lab as loudly as the dean will let her. She misses her old lab, but she’s worked with less in the past.

* * *

Holtzmann pulls her glasses off and tosses them onto the desk.

“Something wrong?”

“Something’s _missing_.” Holtzmann responds, scowling at the box in front of her. She leans down, presses her elbows against the end of the table and props her head up on her fists. “Turn the music off?” Barely seconds after she asks _Hunky Dory_ ceases playing and Holtzmann is left in silence to contemplate. She closes her eyes, tries to focus. The numbers climb upwards as she tries to grasp what’s lacking.

“ _Holtz!_ ” Abby yells, and Holtzmann starts, jerking upright. She looks across the lab at Abby, who’s wearing concern like a mask.

“You haven’t moved in ten minutes, I thought you fell asleep but you didn’t respond when I said your name. What just happened?”

“I was thinking.” Holtzmann says. She isn’t surprised to learn that she had frozen, when she was really focused she could tune out just about anything. She had once stood with her tie on fire without noticing until someone else dumped the contents of their water bottle on it.

“You were counting under your breath.”

“Was I?” Holtzmann’s brow furrows. Abby looks between her and the EVP detector.

“Why don’t we go out for lunch, take a break?” She suggests. Holtzmann shakes her head.

“I’ll be done with this in ten minutes.”

“Okay, you _won’t_ , and now I’m forcing you to come out with me.” Abby strides to the door, holds it open. “We can take an afternoon off, Holtz, it’ll be okay. Get your jacket.” Reluctantly, Holtzmann does as she’s told.

* * *

“I realised today I don’t know that much about you.” Abby says, looking at the table between them. “I, jeez. I’m an open book. We’ve been working together nearly a year and I don’t know anything about you.” Abby looks at her, and Holtzmann shrugs, somewhat tensely.

“It’s never come up.”

“That’s why I’m bringing it up, Holtz.” Abby explains. “You’re my friend, I want to know about you. Your life.” Holtzmann lifts her head, suddenly.

“We’re friends?”

“Aren’t we?” Abby asks, frowning. Holtzmann relaxes, slowly. Then, she smiles.

“Yeah, we’re friends.” She leans back in her seat, props one of her feet up. “I’ve never-” She hesitates. “I’ve never had a friend who liked science before.”

“Never?”

“Never ever.” Her smile grows.

* * *

“What’s the deal with your necklace?”

“What?” Holtz puts her screwdriver down and looks at her necklace, the pendant of which had slipped out of her shirt while she bent over. “Oh, my ex-girlfriend made it for me. ‘Screw U’.” She says, chuckling.

“You wear it every day?”

“I take it off to shower.” Holtz keeps working as she talks. “It’s a good gag. Girls think it’s funny.”

“Are you friends with the ex?” Abby asks. Holtz knows all of Abby’s tactics to get her to talk, and Abby is still getting the hang of her boundaries - what she is and isn’t willing to talk about. Abby probes in a way she would probably describe as subtle while Holtz is particularly engrossed in her work, and it’s effective enough. They’ve agreed to limit that kind of conversation to twice a week, and Holtz has the right to be unresponsive if she so chooses.

“I haven’t spoken to her in nearly a decade, so I wouldn’t say so.”

“Then why do you wear the necklace?” Abby asks. Holtz doesn’t reply, face screwed up as she looks between the blueprints and the device. She pulls her glasses off to look more closely and Abby knows she’s lost her, goes back to attempting to document all the hotspots for paranormal activity in New York. It’s tedious and she hates it, and she’s about to check the time to see if she can take another painkiller when Holtz speaks up.

“She gave it to me the morning I left to for Massachusetts. I’d been living at her house but we’d broken up months earlier. I think she gave to me because she didn’t have the guts to say it to my face.” She pauses. “You get one more question.” She’s hunched over her work, and Abby is amazed that she still can’t tell the difference between when Holtz is thinking about science and when she’s thinking about anything else. Holtz knows because Abby gets a bemused expression whenever it happens, and she wonders if she should point out that she’s always thinking about both.

“Why did you break up?”

“She told me she loved me.” Holtz responds, instantly. “I never said it back. She got tired of it.”

“Did you love her?”

“That’s another question.” Holtz murmurs. “But no, I didn’t.” Abby opens her mouth and Holtz looks up, finally. “Don’t. Another day.”

**_28._ **

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

“What?” Holtz drops her tools into the mess on her desk and looks across the lab at Abby, who looks more serious than Holtz has ever seen her.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Abby repeats, totally stoic. Holtz thinks about it. She knows the first time Abby asked her this she said there wasn’t enough evidence to suggest she should or shouldn’t, but now she had been trying to find evidence of their existence for two years.

“I have no reason to believe in them.” Holtz says. “But, I am still here.” There’s a moment of silence, filled with the words Holtz doesn’t say.

Things like, _I could be anywhere._

“Why are you here, then? If you don’t think they’re there to be found?”

“You’re my friend.” She says, quietly. “I’m not going abandon you.” Holtz wonders how long she’s going to live in Erin Gilbert’s shadow.

“We could be friends outside of work, Holtz.” Abby says. “You’re stuck with me now.” Abby quips with a small smile. Holtz grimaces.

“What?” Abby’s smile fades. Holtz shakes her head, hits play on the stereo and dances to _Take On Me_ instead of answering.

* * *

It’s frustrating sometimes, working in that lab. She almost never has access to the materials she needs to _do_ anything so she’s stuck _theorising_ with Abby, which she definitely enjoys, but makes her restless. She goes to bars and clubs and takes girls back to her apartment when it’s clean enough. It’s one of those nights, lying in bed with a girl after sex but before sleep, and she’s content to just nod off when the woman speaks up.

“What’s that?” She asks, gesturing at a cloth hanging over the back of a chair. Holtz props herself up on her elbows and squints at it.

“That would be an invisibility cloak.” She grunts, falling back against her pillow.

“Like Harry Potter?” The woman doesn’t attempt to hide her skepticism.

“Kind of,” Holtz yawns, rolls onto her side. “Except it’s real and I made it using science, not magic - and it works.” She can't remember the girl’s name.

“What’s your job again?”

“I’m an associate professor at the Kenneth P. Higgins Institute of Science.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Not surprising.” She thinks about Abby hopping from college to college after she graduated. She thinks about the students she lectures and looks at the cloak.

“Did you study there?” The woman is asking to be curious, but Holtz struggles not to take it as an insult, and scoffs.

“I went to MIT.” Holtz replies. “ _God_ , I miss their facilities.” She closes her eyes. “Those guys loved me. I could’ve asked for plutonium and they would’ve found a way to get it to me.”

“Plutonium?”

“I specialise in nuclear engineering. Particle physics.” She opens her eyes again and thinks about the European Organisation of Nuclear Research, and then she thinks about ghosts and how she thinks they aren’t real because if there were she would’ve found them by now. She thinks about Abby.

“You should leave.” Holtz says. The woman doesn’t appreciate it very much, but softens when Holtz gives her some money to pay for the cab ride. As soon as she’s gone she calls Abby’s phone, and Abby doesn’t pick up. A few seconds later her phone rings and she answers.

“Holtz, what the hell, it’s three in the morning.”

“I had an idea.”

“You always have ideas.”

“I have an idea thought I should check with you first.” Holtz clarifies. Something gets toppled over on the other end of the line.

“Tell me you haven’t started building it already.”

“I haven’t; I just thought of it but - what if I made something to ionise the subjects?”

“To - to make the ghosts _stronger_?”

“Yes.” Holtz nods, getting to her feet. “I could - Abby, I could do that. And then - then we could have some _evidence_ -” Her breath catches. A moment later Abby hangs up. She holds the phone in her hand for a moment, finds herself overwhelmed with a collection of emotions she doesn’t know how to deal with.  

* * *

She doesn't go to the lab the next day, just shows up to teach a lecture and at the end of it she watches all the students meander out of the room and counts everything she can see. Someone clears their throat and Holtz looks to see Abby standing in the doorway.

“No one ever has faith like I do.” Abby says. Holtz nods. “Not even Erin and she -” Abby shrugs. “If you need evidence then you should do it.” She walks into the classroom and Holtz stares at her, frowning slightly.

“But we need a way to catch them first. Just in case they’re malevolent.” Abby adds. Holtz’s frown deepens, then clears.

“Are you telling me to make a ghost gun?”

“I definitely did not say that.” Abby corrects, uselessly. “Holtz - _Holtzmann_. I did _not_ say make a ghost gun.” Holtz's smile is already far too wide for Abby's words to make a difference.

“A _ghost gun_.” She scrambles to pick up her papers. “This week is so awesome.” She grins, practically jogging out of the room.

* * *

By the time Abby enters the lab Holtz has already cleared some space on her workbench and is in the middle of trying to find a pencil when Abby gets to the desk.

“Holtz, we need to talk.”

“Okay,” Holtz nods, still looking for something to write with. Abby waits for a moment, realises Holtz isn’t going to say anything else, and sighs.

“If you don’t want to stay here you shouldn’t.”

Holtz hears her perfectly well but elects not to respond because she’s just found a pencil and what Abby said doesn’t need an answer, not really. She genuinely enjoys working with Abby, the problem is there isn't much work for Holtzmann to do. She is an engineer and, while she's capable of it, theory _bores_ her. And what’s the point if it isn’t fun? Abby is much better than her at that kind of thing anyway, equations, dissertations, theories. Abby could write another eight 400-page books on her theories surrounding the paranormal, but she couldn’t sit down and build the tech necessary to prove it.

And Holtz wouldn’t have anything to build if Abby didn’t need her to do it.

“Holtzmann, if you aren’t-

“Do you think we could get our hands on a generator?” She’s scribbling down possible configurations of the gun, and she sighs loudly as Abby opens her mouth again. “We already talked about this, now let me do my thing.”

* * *

She takes a week to sketch out some possible designs and spends most of her free time looking for a generator. When she finally finds one good enough to use it’s still on the verge of unsalvageable, so she drags it back to the lab to fix up. When she finally gets back she collapses on top of it and starts to snore, loudly. Abby sighs.

“That looks rubbish.”

“It won’t be by the time I’m done with it.” She pats the side of it lovingly, “Isn’t that right, you sexy beast to be?” Hopping to her feet, she looks over the equation on Abby’s board.

“What’s that?”

“I’m taking another look at the ley lines theory.” Abby frowns. “Maybe we can start doing some proper probing expeditions, stakeouts.” She jumps when there’s a crash from Holtz’s side of the room.

“ _Can we?_ ” Holtz cheers, grinning like it’s Christmas.

**_29._ **

The proton gun takes a backseat to actively refining their arsenal of detection equipment based on their findings on stakeouts. Both Holtz and Abby are amazed to discover actual _readings_ in certain locations, so they return to those as frequently as they’re allowed, even at one point resorting to booking a room in a hotel to test out the PKE meter, and they receive a noise complaint when the device starts moving. Neither of them care. Eventually, Holtz shares more about herself voluntarily - tells Abby about her mother, about coming out, about her dad, about counting - and it’s nice. She’s still stutters through it, still hates the idea of being vulnerable like that with someone, but it’s nice. Abby holds her hand when her voice shakes and hugs her when she’s done. They shoot the shit and make inside jokes and Holtz finds herself counting less and less, meaning her grins more and more - something Abby happily makes a comment on.

“You know how some people have resting bitch face?

“Mm?”

“You have the opposite. Perpetual smile syndrome.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

* * *

Generally speaking, Holtz is very relaxed. She doesn’t talk much when she hasn’t been addressed, she doesn’t get emotional like Abby does when people deface the door to the lab, and several near disasters have been avoided right under Abby’s nose simply because Holtz doesn’t get flustered or angry or surprised. She takes everything in her stride and rolls with the punches, so when her mother shows up at the lab it’s hard to tell who’s more shaken up at the end of it - Abby or Holtz.

It’s a regular Thursday, Abby is going over the results from the last stakeout, and Holtz tinkering with the PKE meter. Someone knocks on the door, and the two scientists look up, then at each other.

“Didn’t you just order? Is this a repeat of that one time with the EVP detector?”

“No, no I just ordered.” Abby frowns. “Come in!” She yells, shrugging. Holtz shrugs back and looks back at her blueprints, feet already starting to move to epic bass of  _The Smiths_.

“Are you lost?” Abby’s question goes ignored.

“Jillian?” She doesn’t recognise the voice right away, doesn’t recognise the face for a moment either. Then, altogether too quickly, Holtz feels like the floor has been ripped out. She grabs at the edge of the table for purchase, holds on for dear life despite the absence of a real threat.

“Mom?” She hears her hex-head screwdriver land somewhere near her feet. Her mother is standing there just in front of the door, and she looks - Sad? Happy? Disappointed?

“Your hair is the same.” She says. Holtz reaches up slowly, like she’s moving through water. “You found different goggles, though.”

“I have the other ones here.” Holtz says. She looks at Abby, needs to be grounded by her friend, who is already on the way to her side, but is thankfully being casual about it. She looks back at her mother, tries to shake how truly surreal the moment is. Tries not to notice how her mother looks older, how there’s more grey in her hair, how she looks tired. “Why are you here?”

“How did you find her?” Abby adds.

“I Googled her name.” Her mother replies. Something about the words make Holtz want to laugh - the irony in her mother answering Abby’s question first. “I wanted to see you.”

Holtz doesn’t know what to say next.

“I’m sorry you felt you had to leave because of who you are. I was wrong. I’ve wanted to apologise for years.” Her mother says. She hears the words, realises she never desperately wanted to hear them - then feels an old but familiar twist in her gut.

“I didn’t need to leave.” Her voice is completely even, and even _she_ finds that frightening. Abby’s hand lands on her shoulder and squeezes. “Do you - Have you thought all this time I left because I had to?” Her mother says nothing. Holtz feels strangely like her teenage self again, uncertain and frightened and concerned about people looking at her and seeing who she was. All confused emotions and words weighing her tongue down. “I left because I wanted to.”

“Holtz, are you okay?” Abby whispers, squeezing her hand. Holtz looks down, tries to figure out when they started holding hands, looks back at Abby’s face.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She replies, too quietly for her mother to hear. “Just, please, don’t go.” Abby nods, and they both look back at her mother.

“I wanted to see what you’re doing now.” Her mother says. The situation is hideously awkward. Holtz looks around the room.

“This is it.”

“I was expecting something a little more glamorous.” Both of the physicists flinch.

“I like it.”

“What does this do?” Her mother asks, pointing at the PKE meter.

“It’s a psycho kinetic energy meter. It helps us find spots where paranormal entities are.” Abby answers. Her mother nods, slowly.

“Does it work?”

“Of course it works.” Holtz responds, too quickly. “Everything I build works.”

“Dr. Yates - I assume you _are_ Dr. Yates?”

“You wouldn’t be wrong.”

“Is it okay if my daughter and I speak alone?”

“I’m not the one to be asking that.” Abby says. “Holtz?” Holtz freezes for a moment.

“No.” She says. “No, I want you to leave.”

“Jillian, please.” She looks at her mother for a second and immediately regrets it. She doesn’t know how to deal with the situation, so she does the only thing she can think of. She pulls her goggles off and hurries out of the room, averting her eyes as she passes her mother and shutting the door behind her.

* * *

She decides to go home, and it’s lucky that she had her keys in her pocket because she realises almost as soon as she’s outside the building that she left her wallet and phone behind. But she has her keys and it’s not too far to walk, and she could do without dealing with the subway right now. When she gets to her apartment building Abby is lingering on the steps, and without a word they hug and enter the building together.

“It’s a bit messy.” Holtz mumbles, opening the door to her apartment. Abby walks in with a chuckle.

“It’s actually tidier than my place.”

“Shut up,” Holtz grins dryly and collapses onto her couch. “So what happened after I left?”

“I stopped her from going after you and then got security to escort her off the campus after one too many snide comments about our area of study.” Abby goes into the kitchen and starts trying to pull something edible together with what she finds. “You never mentioned she was mean.”

“I don’t think she paid enough attention to me to be mean.” Holtz says, tilting her head to rest on the back of the couch so she can see Abby upside down. “Maybe I didn’t pay enough attention to her. Either way, I never noticed.”

“Are you okay?”

“You know me. I’m always okay.” Holtz says. “We should get takeout. Indian.”

“Is this going to be a sleepover?”

“ _Please_.” She shuts her eyes. Abby orders the food and then sits next to her, drops Holtz’s phone and wallet into her lap.

“Thanks.”

“You don’t have a TV.” Abby says. “We can’t have a movie marathon.”

“I only watch things when I’m with you, so. No TV. I could play music way too loudly and we could dance and talk about stuff.” She starts shaking her shoulders.

“We _always_ do that.” Abby laughs as Holtz body rolls closer to her side of the couch. “Do you think you’ll ever talk to her again?”

“I won’t disregard the possibility. But next time it’ll be on my terms.”

**_30._ **

A few days after Holtz’s birthday a postgraduate walks into the lab, lost. Abby’s right on the verge of something excellent so Holtz pushes her goggles up and sends the girl off in the right direction. She, in the process, gets the girl’s phone number. She lingers by the door as the girl walks back down the hallway, leans out the door, smiles, waves, and by the time she gets back to her seat she's received a text.

“Have you always been able to do that?”

“Do what?” Holtz looks up and sees Abby looking at her.

“Pick up women.”

“Oh, yeah. Pretty much.” Holtz shrugs. “It's not difficult.”

“Most people would argue the contrary.”

“Would they?” Holtz asks, slouching in her seat. She puts her foot up against her desk and lazily grins, then winks. Abby stares at her.

“Don't do that.” She says, eventually. “It's creepy.”

“Creepy how? Cemetery creepy? Person who doesn't blink creepy?”

“You're really good at that creepy.” Abby states. “And I want you to never do it to me again.” Holtz nods.

“Yes ma’am.” She says, saluting. That afternoon Abby tells her it's lucky she's so harmless because if she used her powers for evil the world probably would've ended a while ago. Holtz can't keep the smile off her face for hours.

* * *

Holtz squints up at the building, wondering how it looks so much smaller now even though she never passed 5’4’’. She looks around even though she knows there’s no one there to be following her, and then walks into the building. It’s been a long time since she’s sat in a lecture at Columbia, but she’s wanted to do this for years. She slips into the classroom and sits at the back, ignoring the handful of glances she gets from the students as they come in. Her eyes are trained on the professor at the front of the room, Dr. Erin Gilbert. Prior to this moment, Holtz hadn’t even had a face to put to a name, let alone seen Abby’s monster ex moving and speaking and appearing so much like a rabbit in a cage with a wolf.

For a moment the entire world shifts out of balance.

Erin Gilbert is practically the opposite of Jillian Holtzmann and everything she stands for.

Seeing it so clearly shakes her to the bone. Knowing what Abby has said about Erin she suspects, even from this distant perspective, that Abby has blown things far, far out of proportion. Holtz wonders if anyone else in the room can see how scared Erin is, how determined. She teaches well, _excellently_ , and her method is impeccable. She reminds Holtz of that kid who was funny to stop bullies from beating him up on the playground. Erin is brilliant because she fought for it. At the end of the lecture she lingers, debating whether or not to go up to her.

“Um, hello. Do you need help with anything?”

“Pass.” Holtz says, walking backwards out of the room. “Good lecture.” She needs more data before she can come to a conclusion – data she will likely never gather without betraying her best friend – but she feels strongly that she and Erin are two sides of the same coin.

**_31._ **

Their most recent research grant is smaller than ever, and Holtz is worrying about money for the first time in her life. The money she saved from when she was working for the government is all locked into paying for her apartment, and she knows better than to start dipping into it for other reasons. As it is now she can still afford her place for a few more years, but shelter is not everything. She needs things like food and water and electricity and a metro card and this is how she and Abby sit down and consider the pros and cons of putting _the book_ up on Amazon. The only con is that it is slightly illegal, but that doesn’t bother Abby so it doesn’t bother Holtz. They have no way of knowing the chain of events they set in motion when they get the book republished, and celebrate the first copy sold by getting pizza for lunch instead of Chinese, because the pizza guy is always on time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter but the next one is going to be way longer because it's the movie chapter! Finally!
> 
> Thank you guys again for the positive feedback, I'm having a blast writing this and it's really great to see that you guys like it too. 
> 
> Rachel x
> 
> downhilltumbler.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very long. Finished editing at 1:50am so, keep that in mind. 
> 
> Another humungous thank you to everyone who's left a comment or a kudos, it really does mean the world to me. 
> 
> Rachel x

**_32._ **

She takes Abby with her when she goes to see her mother again. She received a letter through the university saying there were some things her mother wanted to give her. The letter also said when her mother would be out of the house for the two weeks following, and that there was a key under the doormat. Holtz spent a week deciding whether she would go or not, then another two days on whether she would go while her mother was there or not.

Now she’s standing across the road with her best friend at her side, staring at her old front door. 

“See the garage?”

“Yeah?”

“The first thing I made in there was a laser. I started working on it before I unpacked anything.”

“You’ve been in your current apartment for nearly seven years and there are still things in boxes so that doesn’t surprise me at all.” Abby laughs. After a second she sobers up and asks, “Are you ready?”

“Sure.” Holtz murmurs. Abby expects a one-liner but she doesn’t get one, instead has to jog to catch up with Holtz as she walks across the road. Holtz knocks and thirty seconds later the door swings open.

“Jillian?” Her mother’s eyes are bulging with alarm and Holtz knows she can handle seeing her this time because she hasn’t been completely taken unawares.

“Hey, mom.” She says. “You remember Abby?”

“Yes, yes of course.” Her mother blinks. “Do you want to come in?”

* * *

Holtz isn't surprised when she finds her room has been changed, but she _is_ surprised when she sees that the only difference is that it’s been completely emptied. She steps inside and Abby lingers at the door, watches as Holtz traces her fingers slowly across the wall. 

“She repainted.” Holtz pauses, taps her finger against the wall with a peculiar smile. “I put scorch marks here when I was twelve. Coincidentally, that was the same day we made the ‘no testing inventions in the house’ rule.” She stops. “It’s bigger than I remember, but smaller as well.”

“It’s strange how that kind of thing can happen.” Abby comments. Holtz nods.

“Let’s go back downstairs.”

* * *

She leaves with a box of her father’s things that her mother had uncovered over the years and saved for her, including his old, clunky green watch and a handful of cassette tapes. The tapes don’t have song lists, which annoys Abby, but Holtz is excited to see what they have on them. Her mother doesn’t attempt to make plans to see her again.

* * *

It’s a lucky coincidence that the blowtorch is next to her when Erin comes in. She grabs it and slouches, watching with amusement as Erin completely overlooks her presence. For a fleeting second she worries that Erin will recognise her, but she can cross that bridge if she comes to it. Abby brushes Erin off so easily Holtz is impressed, but doesn’t take any time to dwell on it.

“Come here often?” She asks, smirking. Erin turns and her facial expression is one of the best things Holtz has seen in a while. She stands up, introduces herself, and immediately decides that flustering this woman is the most fun she’s had since she completed the plasma ignition chamber of the proton gun. Abby comes back and Holtz swells with pride when their friendship and partnership is thrown in Erin’s face. Holtz brings up the EVP recording because she’s known for years she doesn’t like this woman, and what other time will it be more appropriate? Then Abby decidesto start being soft so she pushes it and only a second later her Abby is back and eagerly helping set up the queef-prank.

It succeeds magnificently.

Holtz is so jazzed that she almost misses Erin telling them about the ghost but in the time it takes her and Abby to share a look the professor is already backtracking. Holtz doesn’t care at all - this is the first time someone’s come looking for them, instead of the other way around. She throws off her coat, grabs the pack and her jacket and runs to the door. In the moment Erin assumes they’re asking her to come Holtz gets another glimpse of her polar opposite. This woman craves inclusion. She glances at Abby, knowing it’s her call and she needs to respect it, the same way Abby does with her.

She’s glad it turns out the ghost is more exciting than anything else because the still heated drama between the two women is making her uncomfortable.

* * *

It’s immature, the way she swoops her arm out standing by the taxi, adding a little bite to Abby’s words in an attempt to make them sound condescending, but she does it for good reason. Abby’s voice is transparent to anyone who isn’t oblivious - though Holtz is starting to think Erin is _very_ oblivious. In any case, Abby is jealous that Erin is doing so well with her impending tenure at Columbia, and the old wound has been opened along with it.

They pile into the taxi and Holtz dumps the pack on the floor while she pulls her jacket on. She digs her glasses out of the pocket of her overalls and slides them on while she listens to Abby listing the things they need. Erin sits uncomfortably on the other side of the taxi.

“Hey, tweed.” Holtz says, zipping the pack open. “You can pay for the ride, right?” There’s a short amount of floundering before a defeated ‘yes’. She grins as she starts going through the bag, checking to make sure all the equipment is ready to go.

“Holtzmann?”

“Yessum?” She hums, bopping her head to the radio.

“Did you bring the proton gun?” Abby asks. Holtz sits back up.

“I did not.” She says. “I haven’t tested it yet.”

“What if the ghost is malevolent?”

“What if - it's a portable nuclear laser. It's almost certainly more dangerous than any level vapor could be.”

“Did you just say a portable nuclear laser?” Abby and Holtz both stare at Erin for a second.

“It’s a proton gun and it’s a prototype.” Holtz says. “Specifically design for the capture of spectral entities. And right now if I turn it on there’s just enough of a risk of a _Big Poof_ that I don’t want to give it the chance.” Holtz sees Erin give Abby the look of ‘where did you find this girl’ and it stings.

* * *

Things go from making fun of Erin’s outfit to _a real ghost_ in all of sixty seconds and Holtz regrets not dragging the proton gun down with them for just a second before the excitement hits her full force. They sprint after the ghost, frantically trying to find it before it vanishes completely - when she spots it Holtz points and yells, and then punches her arms above her head like she did when she was little and soldering alarms in her bedroom in Lake Placid.

Holtz misses Abby and Erin hugging only because she’s already danced away to avoid the evidence of Abby turning to Erin in her excitement instead of her. When they’re done being excited - it takes a good twenty minutes - they inform Ed and Garrett that the ghost is gone, to which they reply that _they know_ and _they saw_ but it doesn’t kill the vibe. Erin goes on her way and Abby promises to take the book down. They take a taxi straight back to the lab because Abby has a change of clothes there.

“I’m not going to take the book down.” Is the first thing Abby says. It relieves Holtz, somewhat. She isn’t exactly certain why but she does what she always does, which is count until the dread goes away. Abby doesn’t push Holtz’s silence despite her elation.

“I’m going to put the video online.” Holtz says, eventually.

“Yes!” Abby beams, “You’re right, the world needs to see this. We _cannot_ keep it to ourselves.”

* * *

They celebrate with a sleepover and movie night at Abby’s place, and they get Chinese from the nice place with the money Ed gave them for getting rid of the ghost. They eventually mute the TV in favour of discussing what they need to do at work the next day, Abby examining the evidence and Holtz working on the proton gun so it’s ready for use the next time they get called out into the field.

* * *

Erin shows up at the lab again three days later, and Holtz smiles because she’s good at it. Abby welcomes her in and Holtz realises that at some point in the last three days, right under her nose, Abby has forgiven Erin of all her transgressions. It bothers her, and she isn’t so quick to forget, so she makes a crack about the ectoplasm, which sets Abby on an excited rant. Holtz stays quiet after that, not wanting to rain on her friend’s parade. She counts while she listens to Abby talk, and at the same time wonders about the shadow Erin had left for her to scramble out under from for the last six years, how she had thought she’d finally succeeded but is now learning she had no evidence of any such thing happening. When Abby invites Erin to work with them she glances in Erin’s direction and sees uncertainty flicker over her features.

* * *

As soon as the dean tells them he didn’t realise they were still there, Holtz starts to think about how they’re going to get her inventions out. Most of the tech that works can fit in her bag, but she has important blueprints and specs to take with her and they have to get the proton gun out, somehow. The first thing that’s said after they leave the office is Erin offering to help them with their stuff.

“I mean, I know how hard it is to be fired.” She says, mostly joking. Holtz ponders the meaning of Erin’s willingness to work with them despite having just been thrown out on their asses.

By the time they get outside Holtz has decided she can work with her, but she hasn’t made a decision on the front of personal opinion.

* * *

Through the ordeal of trying to find a place to set up shop, Holtz notices Erin looking at her frequently, but not in the good ‘wanna get out of here?’ way, nor in the ‘you’re weird’ way, which are the only two ways Holtz is familiar with and able to handle properly, so she ignores that they’re happening at all. After they _don’t_ get the fire station, Abby goes home to start designing flyers for the ghost hunting business they have apparently started, leaving Erin and Holtz to check around the area above the Chinese takeout place together. She’s counting the number of outlets when she catches Erin looking at her again. 

“If there’s food on my face and you haven’t told me yet you’re a bad friend, Doc.” She says, tapping a portion of wall to see if it’s sturdy.

“Have we met?” Erin asks. Holtz pauses, turns around.

“Met is a strong word.” She answers. “I went to a lecture of yours a few years ago to see what your deal was.”

“You - you did?” Erin says, surprised. Holtz nods.

“Not what you were expecting?”

“No I- I thought we had had _sex_ , I'm so relieved-”

“Oh, well.” Holtz smirks, “I won’t lie to you, it’s possible that happened. I can't remember if we did, but I wouldn't be surprised.”

“Oh.” Erin says. “Did Abby tell you to see my lecture?”

“She doesn't know I went.” Holtz says, then returns to her inspection. After a few minutes Erin speaks up again.

“What - what did you think of it? The lecture?” She asks. Holtz frowns at her and doesn't answer.

* * *

They’re taking a break from moving stuff inside and Abby has gone downstairs to order their lunch. Erin is still moving things around and Holtz is slouching in one of the booths.

“It was magnificent.”

“Huh?” Erin jerks around, scrambles to catch a box before it rolls off the table. “What?” Holtz smirks.

“Your lecture. You asked what I thought of it.”

“Oh. Well, thank you. That’s kind of you to say.” Erin walks over and perches herself carefully in the seat opposite her. “I looked you up last night but I couldn’t find very much. There was an old newspaper article on you finishing your PhD when you were 22, then nothing else till you started working with Abby.”

“Sounds right.”

“What were you doing?”

“Classified.” She hums. Erin nods slowly.

“What kind of classified?”

“The kind that means if I talk about it I’ll get in trouble.” Holtz says. “If you’re trying to check my credibility, I know what I'm doing.”

“What? No, I just, I want to get to know you.” She shrugs. “We’re colleagues.” Holtz frowns.

“Alright.” She says. “Still can’t talk about what I did before I met Abby.”

“That is totally fine.” Erin smooths her hands over the table between them, like there was a crease in a cloth there. “How did you meet Abby?”

“She gave me a business card when I was thirteen and I found it when I was unpacking my apartment here.” Holtz replies. Erin nods again, even more slowly than before.

“You’re-” She hesitates, “You’re very quiet. You don’t look like you would be.” Holtz keeps staring at her as she lifts her eyebrows slowly and deliberately. Erin nods, quickly this time.

“Yes, like that.” She frowns. “Why are you quiet?”

“I get more done that way.” Holtz pulls her feet from the table and leans across it. “The first thing I learnt is never to ask if I don’t need to. The second is, if I’m quiet people don’t notice I’m there.” She reclines in the booth again. Erin nods again and Holtz has to wonder for a moment if this woman ever stops nodding, or if it’s a nervous habit.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“What?”

“That it’s possible not to notice you.” Erin says. Holtz wants to say something else, a witty one liner, but Abby comes back so instead she gets up and starts looking for the stereo, which she knows is hiding somewhere in the boxes.

* * *

Holtz stays after Abby and Erin leave together so she can finish unpacking everything she needs on her own, so that when she comes back the next day she can get stuck into working on the proton gun immediately. Her colleagues have already fallen into a familiar rapport with one another, despite the deliberate side stepping of certain topics. They chatter almost consistently, and Holtz knows there won’t be so much of that once they’re ready to research again but it stills puts her off. Erin is right, she is quiet, but when it’s just her and Abby it feels like companionship, and with Erin there it feels more like being left out.

If this is what being left out feels like, Holtz is grateful she never got a taste of proper friendship earlier than Abby.

* * *

Benny trudges up the stairs with lunch and Holtz takes it as the cue to put some music on. She throws one of her dad’s cassettes into the player and immediately starts to dance. She notices Erin watching, so she abandons any pretense of working and goes for the blowtorches again. She knows the blowtorches make Erin nervous.

Abby’s insistence that the fire extinguish be by Holtz’s work area was not a terrible idea, and the fact that she’s set something on fire on her first day isn’t particularly surprising either, but she still reminds herself that this isn’t _officially_ a lab and if she starts too many fires they’ll lose the lease. She switches the music off when Abby comes back, and watches them talking about the flyers.

“I like the green paper!” Erin calls.

“Thank you!” Abby yells back. Holtz frowns. Then, she remembers that she’s _weird_ and Abby isn’t, and Erin isn’t either.

And then Kevin arrives, and Holtz is marvelling at another phenomenon entirely.

It takes them a good five minutes to set up the interview, and the entire time Erin is a complete mess. It’s truly entertaining. Abby has never expressed any interest in men - or women, for that matter - to Holtz, so this is truly new territory to her. She’s only witnessed this kind of behaviour a handful of times before, but all those times were directed at _her_ , and she had no context of those women’s regular behaviour. Erin might as well be a puddle right now. She is also fascinated by how downright _dreadful_ Erin’s attempts at flirting are. Holtz thinks Erin is lucky, honestly, that Kevin doesn’t appear to follow her meaning, because if he _could_ understand he’d probably put off.

Holtz finds it kind of endearing.

Abby takes a moment to reprimand Erin for her behaviour and Holtz dives in with a question, because Kevin himself is fascinating too. Mostly because she doubts she’s ever met someone so genuinely unintelligent before in her life, and she may never met someone like him again. When he stands up so they can talk she listens with one ear and watches Kevin while he’s waiting, and she isn’t disappointed. Her priorities with a secretary are someone who can help carrying things and someone who won’t interrupt her work, so as long as he can handle simple instructions - which she _thinks_ he can - then he's a winner to her.

Though she doesn’t think he’d be very good at being an _actual_ secretary.

* * *

Holtz knows she likes Patty immediately. She isn’t afraid to ask questions or give information, and she isn’t put off by Holtz’s behaviour. Or, she _is_ put off by Holtz’s behaviour but she also takes it in her stride, and the fourth thing she says in her direction is a comment about how she’s met weirder people than her almost every day for the last six years. Holtz _loves_ that, and asks for examples, which Patty is more than happy to give.

She also gets them a free ride to her subway station, which is a sweet bonus.

As they walk up the subway platform, Holtz decides that if the proton gun doesn’t blow up in their faces then she’s done well. She looks at the graffiti for a second before she takes a photo, acting on a hunch. Then, with Patty’s help, she pushes the cart down onto the tracks. She hangs back with Patty until Abby calls her over, and when the lights go out she sees it. As soon as the ghost is illuminated Holtz goes to the proton gun, already powering it up before Abby tells her to. She grabs the gun and hands it to Erin before going back to the console. She has a feeling that if Erin is hospitalised or killed within the next ten minutes Abby won’t be happy about it, and it will be her fault. She tries to reassure Erin but she thinks that her excitement about the ghost is really taking away her ability to use tact, but she’s sure Erin will understand.

* * *

Good news. The proton gun did not kill Erin immediately upon activation.

Bad news. The proton gun was not nearly powerful enough.

Good news. Holtz gets to make the proton gun _more_ powerful.

Bad news. The proton gun got destroyed.

Good news. They saw another _freakin’ ghost_.

Bad news. Someone has taken her old idea of creating a device to power up the ghosts, apparently. It’s only a theory, and Holtz frankly hates theories, but she’s pretty sure she’s right about this one nonetheless.

Good news. The proton gun _worked_.

* * *

Instead of going back to lab to analyse the evidence they gathered, Holtz heads out to gather the materials she needs for her brand new and improved proton gun. She knows she needs enough material for three, and thanks to her battery cell guy, that shouldn’t actually be too difficult to scrounge together. The real trouble lies in getting the stuff back to the lab, and Kevin proves himself to be useful. He gets lost twice, but once he finds her they’re able to slowly cart everything back to Chinatown. Slowly.

It’s dark when they get back and she sends Kevin home, wanting to get started immediately. She gets woken up by Abby the next morning, having passed out at her desk. It’s nearly 10am.

“You should go home. Shower, get changed.”

“I have a change of clothes here,” Holtz says, slowly getting to her feet. “I want to get this done.”

“The guns can wait, Holtz.”

“Can they?” Holtz answers, arching an eyebrow. “You’re the one who always says we need to be ready.” She pushes past Abby to get to her closet, rifles through it till she finds something that doesn’t need to be washed. 

“Am I detecting hostility?”

“Nope.” Holtz responds without a pause, pulls out a graphic tee she can’t remember buying. “Is Erin here?”

“No, I sent her to get you food.” Abby says.

“Cool.” Holtz walks back to her desk, unbuttons her vest and shirt and takes them both off in one go before pulling on the new shirt. She tries to run her fingers through her hair, fails, and takes it out.

“Is this about Erin?”

“Is what about Erin?” She asks, trying to find the hairbrush she _knows_ she has somewhere around here.

“Why you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.” Holtz murmurs, looking under the desk. She finds it and brushes her hair quickly before throwing it back up again. 

“You _are_.” 

“ _Except_ I don’t get mad. Remember?” She shoots Abby a smile - no teeth - then looks at the half-assembled proton pack. “What do you think of this? I’ve compressed the design to make it a backpack. It’s going to be self-holstering and about twice as powerful as the prototype.” 

“I think - wait, you did all those calculations last night?”

“Sure did.” Holtz grins, running her hand over it. “My baby. I’m making three, how does that sound?”

“That sounds _awesome_ .” 

“I _know_.”

* * *

She’s just putting some finishing touches on the last gun when Erin puts her laptop down on Holtz’s desk.

“They think it’s fake.” She sighs. Holtz looks up her from where she’s sitting with her feet up and keeps working. “You aren’t disappointed?”

“You can’t expect them to think it’s real. Technology these days - if you can _catch_ a ghost you can _invent_ a ghost.”

“Don’t you care at all?”

“About what?”

“The things they say about us.” Erin looks at her, and Holtz considers it. The thing is, people have always said things about her and, unlike Erin, she never tried to change so they would stop. She’s always gone her own way and she’s always suffered the consequences.

“Not really.”

“How?”

“Just don’t.” Holtz shrugs. Abby comes back from the bathroom and Erin shows her the comments, and she feels proud at how quick Abby is to defend her tech.

* * *

When Patty says the word ‘car’ Holtz feels her heartbeat pick up. She had to sell her old, beloved ride when she moved back to New York just because she didn’t have anywhere to park it. It’s a goal of hers to be able to get it back, but it’s scrap now for all she knows.

Besides, the tech is still heavy and taking the subway everywhere is impractical.

In the time it takes Patty to get the car and come back she’s finished the third proton pack and started working on the fourth because they need a _fourth_ one now. Holtz reckons she should get paid for this. When Patty texts them that she’s back they all go downstairs and the first thing she thinks is _oh my god is that a cadillac._ The second thing she thinks is _oh my god is that a hearse_ and then the only thing she really thinks after that is _oh my god, that is a cadillac hearse._ She’s already looking over it, rubbing her hands together as she thinks about all the adjustments she can make. A siren so they can get through traffics, rolling trays with hooks to hold the gear in place, she could make long range PKE scanners, an ectoplasm analysis unit for testing and storage on the go - plus she could mess around with an engine for the first time in _years_.

She loves her technical work, but there’s something almost romantic in her eyes about rolling up your sleeves and doing some real grease monkey work. Feud between mechanics and engineers be damned.

Then Abby brings up dead bodies and can this day get any better?

* * *

She doesn’t get to start on the car right away because Abby suggests they make a trap, which Holtz admits is not at all a terrible idea, and seems simple enough.

“You’re asking me to build and reverse tractor beam and attach it to a spectral containment unit?”

“Precisely.” Abby confirms. “How’s the timeframe on that look?”

“Not too bad,” Holtz murmurs, already sketching a design. “I’ve done the maths around something like the tractor beam before, do you think you can do the rest while I work on that?”

“When did you do the maths on a reverse tractor beam?”

“I made an anti-grav gun once.” She says, not thinking. “Shouldn’t be too far from that.” There’s a short moment of silence.

“You made an anti-gravity gun?” Abby asks. Holtz realises her mistake and stops drawing.

“If I say ‘classified’ like I usually do can we forget this?”

“Holtz - _Holtzmann,_ do you have the specs on a working anti-gravity gun?” 

“I really can’t tell you.”

“That’s _impossible_. Holtz, you could change the _world_ with that science.” 

“I know,” Holtz huffs. “But I can't talk about it, and that’s why I quit the job. I’m really not joking when I say the government might be tracking me. Can you do the work on spectral containment or not?” She asks. Abby nods after a pause.

“I’ll get Erin to help.”

* * *

She works on the trap during the day and when everyone else is gone she packs her tools away and jogs downstairs to the garage. She’s glad she keeps her extra scrap in here already because that makes it much easier to work. She sleeps in the car that night and wakes up early to keep working on it. By the time Abby has texted asking where she and her tools are she’s almost finished all the tech to fix to the roof of the car, which just leaves actually attaching the equipment, adding the rolling tray, doing the paint job and then a general check up on the engine. She wanders upstairs and greets the three of them and goes back to working on the trap while she explains to Patty how it works.

“Here’s the stuff you wanted on spectral containment, Holtz.” Erin carefully sets down a pile of papers on her desk. “Are you going to take a break?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” Holtz murmurs, not looking up from her work. “Patty just left to get me a sandwich so I should be fine.”

“When were you last home?”

“Monday. Why?”

“Holtz, it’s _Thursday_. Where have you been sleeping?”

“Up here. In the car.”

“You need to shower.”

“I just want to-” Holtz stops, Erin having grabbed her wrist. “What?”

“I’m calling a taxi, you’re going home.”

“But the-”

“Whatever it is can wait until you’ve showered and done your laundry, okay Holtzmann? I’m serious. Abby will understand.” Erin pulls the screwdriver from her hand slowly and guides her away from the workbench while she gets her phone out.

* * *

When she gets home Holtz admits that she is grateful that Erin sent her home. Her skin, now that she’s noticed, feels grimy, and her clothes aren’t fairing much better. She takes her time with her shower, closes her eyes and counts while she stands under the stream of water, thinking about proton packs and ghost traps and cars and possible ghost amplifiers and ghosts and it’s a lot, she realises, that she has on her mind. Because as soon as she’s done thinking about all that she thinks about how Abby and Erin are best friends again but she’s a part of it still, like the three of them are the three scientist musketeers. And then she thinks about Patty and how the historian has become a part of their merry band of misfits so easily, and she wonder if Patty genuinely gravitates towards her or if she’s imagining it.  
There’s a long list of the things Holtz knows to be true, but it’s nowhere near the length of the list of things she doesn’t know. She knows that she’s never connected with someone so easily as she has with Patty, and she’s glad it’s on the list it’s on.

Holtz gets out of the shower and sorts her washing while she waits for her hair to dry, goes back to thinking of alternatives to the proton packs.

* * *

She’s in the middle of designing a ghost grenade when someone knocks on her door. She sticks the pencil behind her ear and goes over, leaving the blueprint on the table. She opens the door and is surprised to find her three colleagues there.

“Hello.” She says. “What’s this?”

“Game night.” Patty holds up Monopoly. Holtz looks at it for a moment.

“I’m surprised it’s not Trivial Pursuit.”

“We agreed against it.” Erin says.

“Yeah, we don’t want any murders.” Abby adds.

“So you picked _Monopoly_?” 

“More or less dangerous than Trivial Pursuit?”

“Touché.” Holtz grunts. “C’mon, get inside then.”

* * *

Abby and Erin fall asleep first, leaving Patty and Holtz on their own to clean up.

“I’m gonna be real, I didn’t know physicists could go hard like that. You seem like you partied in college, but those two? Did _not_ see that coming.”

“Well they are asleep now.” Holtz drawls, checking under her couch for any hotels that may have gotten thrown here. “You’re the only person who didn’t know me in college to say that.”

“Seriously?” Patty says. “I had you pegged from the subway.”

“It’s nice to know I haven’t lost my touch.” She grins and starts packing the game up properly. 

“When did you graduate?”

“Class of ‘04, MIT. Finished my PhD there two years later.”

“Hold up, you did your doctorate in _two years_?” Patty says, her voice rising. Holtz shushes her, points at the women sleeping on the couch.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Shit, you really are a genius aren’t you?”

“That’s what people keep telling me.” Holtz shrugs. “I don’t like to see it that way. I just do my thing.”

“Do you do anything other than science?” Patty asks. “I know you’ve got a thing for cars, but is there anything else?” Holtz has to think about that for a moment. She doesn’t do anything else, not really. She likes reading but all the stuff she reads about is related to her science. The closest thing she has to a hobby is picking up women but that’s not really right and also _ew, gross_.

“I don’t know. My hobby is my career, I don’t really need anything else.” She frowns. “I guess I’m pretty good at sewing.”

“You sew?”

“It’s not that different from engineering.” Patty snorts loudly but Holtz presses on, unperturbed. “No, think about it. It’s work with my hands and I’m either making my own thing or improving someone else’s. I tailor all my clothes.”

“Well no wonder you look so damn good all the time. Shoot, I’d look _bomb_ if all my clothes were tailored.”

* * *

They still have two thirds of the second bottle of wine left and Patty would rather drink it than look at Holtz’s kitchen again, so they sit on the fire escape and pass the bottle back and forth between them. It’s cold but Holtz can’t be bothered to go inside and get a coat, so she leans into Patty’s side and Patty puts her arm over her shoulders like they’ve been friends for years instead of days. 

“What are your parents like?”

“My…” Holtz trails off. “Just a second.” She takes the bottle and has two huge mouthfuls before she hands it back to Patty, grimacing as she swallows. “God, I hate wine.”

“Uh, we don’t have to talk about this-”

“No.” Holtz interrupts. “I might as well tell you. My mom and I don’t get along so well.” And she tells Patty everything there is to tell about her mother, which in the end isn’t that much. They were never friends, never really kind to each other. Just obstacles to move around in each other’s lives. She was in the way of her mother until she was old enough to be left to her own devices, and when her mother finally wanted to be involved it was already too late. The ship had sailed.

“What about your dad, then?”

“He died when I was fifteen.” She shivers and Patty squeezes her, though she’s uncertain if it’s because of the cold or not. “He got hit by a car. Didn’t make it to the hospital.” She shivers again and bends her knees, pulls her legs up against her chest and hugs them tightly.

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes.” Holtz murmurs. “I don’t like to think about it. My therapist used to tell me I don’t process my experiences efficiently, because I would talk about other things instead. I never spoke about it with her, actually.”

“How many people have you told?” Patty asks. Holtz glances at her before looking back over the road.

“You and Abby.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.” Holtz shrinks slightly. “He was great. He was so good I didn’t need my mom.”

“Oh, Holtzy,” Patty twists and pulls her into a hug. “C’mere you crazy-ass marshmallow.”

* * *

The next morning they all get to the lab together and send Kevin off to get them Starbucks with a list so they know he won’t get it wrong. It takes him about twenty minutes longer than it should, but it’s considered a success nonetheless. Holtz is brought up to speed on what she missed the previous afternoon - basically nothing - and is then free to throw herself into finishing the ghost trap. She leaves it with some minor adjustments to be made at the end of the day and makes Kevin help her lift all the gear onto the roof of the car before she sends him home. She finishes around eleven and goes back home feeling like she’s torn through her _mountain_ of things to build in a relatively small amount of time.

* * *

The test of the proton pack goes spectacularly in Holtz’s opinion, and she apologises to Abby about her miscalculation of the compensation needed for the failure at the subway.

“Are you kidding me? That was _awesome_. We’re getting pizza for lunch.”

By the time lunch has arrived Holtz has just about finished with the adjustments and the four of them sit down together for lunch for the first time in a week. It’s mostly laughing and throwing each other under the bus - up until Abby mentions the time Holtz couldn’t remember the way back to her own apartment so she took a girl back to the lab and slept with her there under the pretense that it would ‘be more exciting’ at which point Holtz and Erin team up to expose every embarrassing thing Abby had done since she was sixteen.

They finish eating and Patty asks them how they met and in the moment Holtz realises that Erin and Abby really are best friends, and she can’t compete with it.

Then she realises that she’s okay with not having Abby to herself if she gets Patty and Erin at the same time.

 _Then_ Erin says she saw a ghost when she was eight and Holtz has to cast a look in Abby’s direction because she never heard about this, and Abby is very deliberately facing the other way. That’s how Holtz knows this is to Erin what her father’s death is to her. So she cracks a joke and winks and makes light of it because she’s _bad at this stuff_ but she can’t help but think again about the coin theory, which is starting to appear more and more valid.

Holtz and Erin have nothing in common, other than that they have everything that counts in common.

* * *

“There’s a goat on the loose.” Goat on the loose. Ghost on the loose.

“I’m gonna load up the car.” She practically dances as she runs to the proton pack, now incredibly grateful that she’d been walking them down to the car as she’d finished with each one so all she has to do is sling the last one onto her back, take her goggles off and grab her glasses before she sprints down to the car and takes it around the block so she can stop in front of the restaurant.

“ _What did you do to my uncle’s hearse?_ ” 

“I fixed it!” She yells, unable to keep the grin off her face. If Patty’s uncle thinks he’s getting the car back without a fight he’s in for a surprise because it’s _hers_ now. The three women pile in and Holtz screeches away from the curb again a moment later.

“Holtz, I want to be alive at the end of this card ride.” Erin yells from the back seat.

“Relax, I put the siren on for a reason.” Holtz answers, winding through the traffic. “We’ll be there in no time.”

“Yeah, Holtz is actually quite a safe driver.” Abby says, still gripping the leverage she’s found in the front passenger seat as though her life depends on it.

“When did you do the paint job?”

“Last night.” Holtz grins. “My favourite is the hood ornament.”

“Is that a little ghost?”

“His name is Terrance.” She keeps grinning. “What can I say, guys? I like cars.”

* * *

Holtz knows very well that she should probably be taking the situation more seriously but, c’mon, they’re hunting a _ghost_. They’re in the theatre’s _wardrobe_ , what is she supposed to do? Not play with the wigs and hats? Erin tells her off and she shrugs and goes with it because Erin does have a point, and then unholsters her gun and follows. 

“I went to therapy.” Holtz says, reaching Erin’s side.

“What? Oh,” She sighs, “I don’t think this is really the time…” Erin trails off as Holtz walks ahead of her. “Holtzmann?”

“I thought I heard something.” Holtz murmurs, pushing a door open with the gun. “Apparently not. I wanted you to know we have something in common.” Erin flounders for a moment.

“Can we please have one conversation at a time? And could we be focusing on the ghost we’re looking for right now?”

“Roger dodger.” Holtz salutes and steps into the room. The walkie attached to the back of her belt crackles to life.

“Guys, I think we’ve got another one of those devices.” Abby says. 

“Oh, get it, get it!” Erin yelps even as Holtz reaches for the walkie.

“This is the captain speaking, requesting guidance.” Holtz says.

* * *

This is absolutely the best day of Holtz’s entire life. She steps on the trigger and the trap closes up, and for the few seconds it takes Patty and Abby to get back on the stage she just looks at it, daring the ghost to break free. She picks it up carefully, holds it slightly away from herself as it smokes. It actually worked. Holtz grins at Erin, at Abby.

“Did we just catch a ghost?” Erin asks. Her grin gets wider. _Fuck_ yeah they caught a ghost.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” She says, then lifts the trap up above her head, shouts “ _We put a ghost in a box!_ ”

The crowd erupts.

She holsters her guns and locks the trap back to the bottom of her pack and when the song finishes she grabs the guitar and demolishes because she’s _always wanted to do that_ and this is the best day of Holtz’s entire life.

* * *

It’s Patty’s turn with the music when they get back to the lab and they don’t even get changed before they start to dance. Holtz has some adjustments to make to the proton packs while she dances against the table with Abby next to her dismantling the device they picked up at the theatre.

“We’re not a bad lot, are we?” Abby says. Holtz shakes her head and keeps dancing.

“Patty mentioned you told her about your dad.”

“Uh huh.” Holtz grunts, fixing a cryocooling chamber to Erin’s pack. This really is the best day ever.

“I’m really proud of you.” Abby continues. “I think you should talk to Erin about it.”

“I will.” Holtz says, shimmying across to where she keeps the circuit boards.

* * *

It gets a little awkward when Erin attempts to dance with Kevin so she starts going over all the changes she’s made in her head to report back to the team. Patty doesn’t follow at all, and Erin and Abby both seem to be slightly alarmed at the acquisition of a faraday cage, which Holtz understands. She should’ve had a faraday cage on these things _ages_ ago. It's possible they’re alarmed by her excitement, but Holtz has earned this day and she’s getting everything she can out of it.

Heiss arrives and things go slightly pear shaped when Abby and Erin begin to squabble without squabbling - Holtz sees how their initial falling out happened. Holtz is already holding a pack out to Patty when Erin tells them to gear up and she wants to point out that they have _no idea_ what happens to the ghost when it’s inside the trap but she knows she’ll go ignored so she stays quiet.

And then, of course, Martin gets thrown out the window.

* * *

It’s not pretty. Patty rings 911 while Erin and Abby have a proper yelling match, and Holtz sits down and draws up the design for the ghost chipper. There are some harsh words thrown around but in the end they do reconcile and apologies are made and when Abby goes to check what Patty is doing Erin sits against the edge of Holtz’s desk.

“Have you been working that whole time?”

“Nothing better to do.” Holtz says, having already moved onto the gauntlet design.

“Even though we were shouting?”

“I’ve worked through worse.” She murmurs, keeping her head down. A siren sounds outside and she gets up. “This should be interesting.”

* * *

“Who threw him out the window?” It’s the seventh officer to ask them. Holtz has been silent the entire ordeal so far, but she’s _tired_ of this _stupid_ question.

“A _ghost_ threw him out the window.” Her interjection doesn’t help at all, doesn’t even make her feel better since his response is a smart remark about Patrick Swayze. She folds her arms and watches again, looking over as a car pulls up. For a split second she thinks it’s for her, for mentioning the anti-gravity gun, but she comforts herself with the knowledge that if they were taking her away for that reason they’d be quiet about it. A 'vanishing without a trace in the night' kind of deal.

Holtz then acknowledges that she finds very strange things comforting.

* * *

They get dropped off at their apartments afterwards and, dejected, Abby decides to call it a day. Holtz goes home, but only to grab her papers on the ghost grenade. She sends Abby a text to tell her she’s going to be at the lab all night and Abby probably wants to get in on it, but she never receives a reply. She considers asking Erin but knows out of the four of them she’s the most disappointed, so she calls Patty and tells her what she’s doing.

“Baby, do you know what a break is?”

“I do,” Holtz hums, dropping the scraps she had accumulated over the last few days onto her workbench, phone haphazardly jammed between her shoulder and her ear. “You should come over, keep me company. Have your first honorary all-nighter as a ghostbuster.”

“You really think we can keep calling ourselves that?”

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Holtz says, taking the phone from her ear and putting it on speaker, then tossing it onto the table.

“Was that a reference to Gone with the Wind?”

“Abby likes old movies.” She says. “Actually, Abby likes _all_ movies.”

“Huh. I’m still gonna pass on going back to the lab tonight though. It’s been a long day. Sorry Holtzy, don't forget to get some sleep.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

* * *

She takes a break to see what she can find on Langeville, Montana and orders more Thai food than one person could reasonably consume. She plays her father’s cassette - which, as it turns out, has a _lot_ of DeBarge and almost no Devo, so she’s not sure what’s up with that - and dances and builds and refines. She passes out in one of the booths at 5am after throwing a sheet over the completed weapons to stop the others from seeing them. She’s woken up forty minutes later by an _army_ of emergency vehicles screaming by outside and she makes herself coffee before sitting down and starting on another gun.

* * *

Abby arrives at seven to see Holtz asleep again, collapsed right against the desk.

“What have you been up to then, kid?” She murmurs, walking over and picking Holtz up to lie her down in the booth again. She sends Patty and Erin a message to tell them not to come in until the afternoon, has some of the leftover Thai Holtz left in the fridge, and sits down to look at what Holtz had been building. Holtz wakes up again a few hours later.

“There’s some food in the fridge if you’re hungry.” Abby says. Holtz rubs her eyes as she sits up.

“What time is it?”

“Ten past eleven.” Abby says. “The others are going to get here around two, I think you should do a showcase of what you’ve built when they get here.”

“Alright.” She gets up and goes to the fridge, frowning at how much food had vanished. “I paid for that food.”

“I’ll pay you back.” Abby murmurs. “Sorry I didn’t text back.”

“No problem.” Holtz potters around, stretching and preparing her food. “What are you doing?”

“Checking out the reported sightings we’ve received - there are so many people who need our help, Holtzmann, it’s unbelievable.”

“Unbelievable.” Holtz echoes, sitting back down. Abby frowns at her.

“Are you okay?”

“Just a bit tired.” She stretches out her hands before pushing up her already rolled sleeves. “I’ve been stacked against the clock lately. Not enough time in the day for everything.” She taps the end of her fork against the table with a thoughtful expression. “I could build something for that.”

“It’ll have to wait, I’m afraid. I’m going to set everything up outside.”

“Be careful.” Holtz mutters, shovelling food into her mouth. Abby squeezes her shoulder on the way by.

* * *

She hadn’t even noticed that the gun was on the table when she beckoned Erin up to it, so her shriek was justified despite being somewhat more unusual than her regular antics. They go upstairs and change into their own clothes in time to catch the news broadcast about them as it happens. Holtz feels a pang of frustration but she squashes it because it’s just a watered down version of how she feels when she has to explain _anything_ to Kevin, and it only takes a few seconds for Abby to bring up the sightings she was looking at in the morning. Then Erin has an idea and Holtz watches as she pulls out the map and -

“Ley lines.” She says it with Abby, and while they’re explaining to Patty what they are Holtz is already off and finding the right book. She pulls her glasses off and flicks through the pages, smoothes them out.

“Dismiss this.” She murmurs, laying out the evidence on the table. Abby and Erin keep talking and Holtz’s mind is running a mile a minute - not hearing them but coming to the same conclusion at the same time.

“Oh boy,” She says.

“Okay, if he gets one of his machines in there, and it’s big enough? He’s going to be able to rip a hole right through that barrier.” Abby says.

“Letting whatever is on this plane… Come crashing down-” Holtz slams her palm onto the maps. “-on this plane.”

* * *

There is a moment, just between witnessing a man kill himself - the second death she’s seen in as many days - and turning off the machine where Holtz is truly freaked out. When she runs to the console and looks at it before she sees the lever her mind is racing and all she can process is - is it that easy to die? If she messes this up her friends will die. She flips the lever.

“Holtz, are we good?”

“Uh, well, he’s not, but yeah, we’re okay.” She looks over Rowan’s body. “You hate to see the smart ones go bad.” She looks around while the police come in, something unsettling her about the machinery. And then it hits her.

It’s _her_ tech.

Well, not exactly her tech, but there is definitely a striking resemblance between his work and hers, and it bothers her. Holtz spots his desk and looks over a couple of papers before she spots the book.

“Well I’ll be.” She picks the book up.

* * *

As they’re guided out of the building Holtz asks the guy taking her out where she can find the car, and picks it up instead of going straight back to the lab. When she gets back she finds Abby and Patty watching the news again.

“More of the same.” Abby says. “I think it’s getting to Erin, she’s taking the rest of today and tomorrow off. What’s your plan?”

“Gonna make some more toys.” Holtz says, yawning.

“Maybe you should go home and sleep in a bed like a real person.” Patty says, turning the TV off.

“What an insane idea.” Holtz deadpans. “I’ll give it a go,” She sits down at her desk, “but after I’m done with my toys.”

“Your call.”

* * *

She doesn’t quite finish before she goes home, but all in all Holtz feels pretty good. She saved the city, she gets to keep making her devices, ghosts are real, and she has not one but _four_ friends, and she’s definitely a fan of it. With a smile on her face and a bounce in her step, Holtz acknowledges that she’s excited to go work tomorrow. She swings by her favourite dumpster and there’s a pipe in it which is just begging to be made into a shotgun so she grabs it before heading to her apartment.

* * *

Having finished Erin’s gun the previous evening, Holtz spends her morning finishing off her handguns and then attaching them to her proton pack. She finishes before lunch and wanders over to Abby.

“What’s happening here, then?”

“I’m taking another look at what Erin and I had on the ley lines. The fact that it’s real, well, well it changes a _lot_. It could explain why some places are, historically, more haunted than others - I have Patty gathering more evidence on that, but in the meantime I’m trying to figure out what causes the lines in the first place.” She folds her arms. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t right.” Holtz squints at the whiteboard.

“Oh,” She points, “It’s there. You left out a four.” Holtz leans back with a smile. Abby huffs and makes the correction. “What?”

“You need to promise you won’t do that to Erin.”

“I was just-”

“Helping, I know.” Abby sighs. “Think about Erin, though.” Holtz does.

“Fair enough.” She says. She walks over to where Patty is sitting. “Do you want to get lunch?”

“Holtzy, it’s like you’re reading my mind.” Patty closes her laptop and grabs her purse. “Abby! I’m getting you a sandwich, and when I get back you’re going to eat it!”

“Thank you!”

* * *

It does strike Holtz as a little odd when Abby comes out of the bathroom and calls her Jillian. She’s pretty sure Abby has never called her that before but then again she’s _always_ coming up with new names for Abby.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m quite well.” Abby walks away and Holtz follows, wary. Patty doesn’t seem to realise that anything is wrong, but Patty hasn’t known Abby for six years. Something is wrong and Holtz can tell, but she doesn’t know what it is. She watches Abby pick up the pipe, tells her about the shotgun idea but - there’s just something off.

And then Abby rips the faraday cage off one of the proton packs.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” Holtz doesn’t mean to yell - she nevers yells - but Abby, _Abby_ is trying to destroy her invention and she’s _panicking_. “Not my babies!” She runs at Abby, only half thinking about how the one time she got into a fight in college she’d ended up with a concussion, and grabs the pipe and then she’s thrown across the floor and she’s _not_ built for this.

“Oh god…” She groans. She can hear Patty and Abby talking but it’s not getting through to her. Holtz rolls over just in time for Abby to grab her by the throat.

“Abby-” Holtz is in the air in a second and she knows that she’s light but she’s not _that_ light.

“Look at the view.” Abby says, thrusting Holtz out of the window.

Here’s the thing.

Holtz is relatively fearless. She’s never had a problem with bugs or clowns or fire or explosions or _ghosts_ \- but she has a real problem with heights. She grabs Abby’s arm with both her hands, tries to hold on, tries to say something, but chokes instead. Abby lets her go and she screams and reaches up, trying to grab the windowsill, the ledge, _anything_. Patty catches her, tries to pull her up, can’t for whatever reason - Holtz doesn’t mind, she’s only hanging out a window that a man died from falling out of less than 48 hours earlier, it’s not a big deal.

She tries to climb up herself, “Oh my god, help me,” but achieves nothing. Abby appears at the window and her head turns around all the way, and again the only thing Holtz can do is scream. It takes another few seconds but Patty _does_ pull her back inside.

She collapses onto the floor and rolls away from the other two women. She knows she should be helping but she needs a moment. Patty is yelling something, and Abby cries out, and Holtz curls up into a ball and tries not to think about ledges or windows or balconies or even her fire escape, which had been the exception to the rule of her fear. She counts.

“Hey guys, check it out!” Kevin’s voice comes from outside, and Holtz pushes herself to her feet.

* * *

She has mixed feelings about how the rest of her day goes.

* * *

Erin dives into the portal.

“Oh my god.”

“No,” Holtz sprints for the doors. “We have to get them out - Patty,” She grabs the wire, “Patty! Come _on_!” Holtz considers throwing the proton pack off so she isn’t weighed down by it but there isn’t enough time. She just pulls on the cord as hard as she can. “We gotta get ‘em outta there!” Holtz, she _cannot_ lose her friends. Not after all of this.

Jillian Holtzmann has spent 32 years patiently waiting to be happy, and she is _not_ letting it slip from her grasp now.

* * *

When everything is over and done with, the girls sit down on a curb together, proton packs sitting at their feet, white hair and all. They process their day by thanking each other. It’s kind of sweet.

“Holtzmann, the way you repaired the proton packs was magnificent.” Abby says.

“Thank you.”

“I’m really sorry about what happened.”

“Not your fault.” Holtz takes a sip of her water. “Patty?”

“Yeah?”

“You saved my life three times today. Cheers.” They tap their bottles together.

“Thank you for not letting me fall in the vortex.” Erin says, her arm linked with Holtz’s.

“Anytime. I’m sorry I left the keys in the car.”

“My uncle will have to understand.” Patty says. “Abby, thank you for pushing me out of the way.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter now! I hope everyone likes it! :) 
> 
> Rachel x
> 
> http://downhilltumbler.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it! Thank you all for reading and for your wonderfully nice comments, it's really made doing this a lot more fun than it would've been otherwise.
> 
> Rachel x

They agree not to go to work for the rest of the week. They all need a break, some time to process what they’ve been through over the last month. Holtz goes home and finishes unpacking her apartment properly. She texts the other ghostbusters whenever she thinks to, and then Patty sets up a group chat so she texts all of them at once whenever she thinks to.

She calls her mother.   


“Hello?”   


“Hi, mom.”

“Jillian? Oh my goodness, I’m  _ so _ glad to hear you’re okay. I saw what happened on the news and I-” Her mother stops. Holtz is standing in her living room, seeing the carpet for the first time. She’s scratching the back of her neck, waiting. “I’m so proud of you, Jillian.”

“Thank you.” She feels the same swell in her chest that she gets when Abby defends her work, but it's amplified. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” Her mother chuckles. “You were right.”

“About what?”

“You told me I was going to read about you on the news one day.” They're both silent for a long time. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, mom.” Holtz says. “Why are you proud of me?”

“Because you saved the city.” Her mother answers. “Because you're using your brain to change the world. Because no one else can do what you do.” There's another long pause, and in it Holtz thinks about Rowan and his tech, and how he was a step ahead of them the entire time. Then she thinks about Ecto-1 and it occurs to her that they were ahead by a car. They were ahead by  _ her _ car. “And I'm proud because you found your people. I know that's not what-”

“No, you're right. You're right that I found them, and you're right to be proud.” Holtz says. “I’m really happy.”

“May I ask why you’re calling?”   


“I nearly died three times yesterday. That kind of thing really gives you perspective.” She sits down on her couch. “I was thinking, uh, I was thinking maybe we should grab lunch sometime?”

“Really?” The delight in her mother’s voice tugs at Holtz's chest, and she thinks that means this is the right thing to do.

* * *

The next day she cleans her kitchen and calls Erin in the afternoon. It’s mostly her listening to Erin talking, confirming that she’s still on the line and paying attention at appropriate junctures. She finds it endearing, how earnest Erin is. How determined she is to be validated. Holtz wants to ask if Erin’s parents believe her now but she doesn’t think it would go over well, so she keeps it to herself.

“I’m sorry I didn’t like you at first.”

“Oh.” Erin says. “That’s okay. I can only imagine what Abby had to say about me. I’d rather not imagine, actually.”

“Probably for the best.” 

“Can I-” Erin cuts herself off, takes a breath, tries again. “May I ask what won you over?” Holtz can’t help but smile.

“You did.”

* * *

They agree to meet Jennifer Lynch for lunch, then agree with each other to meet earlier so they can talk. Holtz sits while they wait for their drinks, observing the conversation while she thinks about what she wants to say. They’re all talking about what they did with their days off, all of which were things Holtz wasn’t surprised to hear. It did interest her, however, that she was the only one not doing what she usually did with her time away. Maybe  _ they’re _ the ones who don’t know what breaks are. Their drinks arrive and she wants to stand up but the news gets turned on and it’s about them so they all look over. She flirts with Erin, which earns her a sharp look from Abby, and scolds herself because she’s doing it to forget what she's been planning to do.   


“Y’know what, I wanna make a toast.” She taps her glass, gets to her feet, and freezes. The woman all make comments and it hurts her feelings a little, enough for her to stop smiling. Patty and Erin both keep going but Abby stops, looks at her expectantly, so Holtz swallows and then gives it a go.

“Physics is the study of, uh, the movement of, uh, bodies and space and, it can unlock the mysteries of the universe but it cannot answer the essential question of what is our purpose here and, to me, the purpose of life is to love and to love is what you have shown me,” She looks at Abby, “I didn’t think that I would ever really have a friend until I met Abby and then I feel like I have a family of my own,” Her voice has gotten higher with each word and she sniffs because she really is going to cry if she keeps going so she finishes off, “And I love you, thank you.” She taps her glass against each of the girl’s and then sits down. She glares at the table in front of her, hears the others giving her praise for her efforts but can’t really hear it. She makes a noise, she can't really tell how it comes out sounding, but the other's don't seem phased so she guesses it wasn't so bad.

* * *

“Dr. Gorin?”   


“Speaking. Who is this?”   


“It’s Jillian.” Holtz clears her throat. “Um, Holtzmann?”   


“I know. Why are you calling?”   


“It’s been a long time.”   


“It has.” Gorin agrees. “Seven years. Why have you called?”   


“Have you seen the news? About the ghosts?”

“It’s been hard to miss.”   


“Well, that’s me. I’m a ghostbuster.” Holtz says. “I made friends.” She adds.

“Excellent.” Gorin says. “I’ll visit.”   


“We’re changing location at the moment, but that would be… awesome.”

“Send me an address when you’re ready. I’ll see you soon, Jillian.” Gorin hangs up and Holtz looks at her phone for a moment before locking it and sliding it into her pocket.

* * *

She relinquishes ownership of the second floor when she discovers the basement. Holtz sets up an intercom so the others can get her attention without going all the way downstairs. She blasts her music whenever she wants because there aren't any neighbour's to tell her not to and, for the most part, it can't be heard from upstairs. Abby sets her the task of a bigger containment system to transfer ghosts to once they've been caught in the ghost trap. She's in the middle of the design process - she finally has time to design things properly again and it’s liberating - when Kevin presses the intercom. _Glittering Prize 81/92_ \- so it's a compilation album, sue her - stops and Holtz looks up, waiting for a message. None comes, but she can hear parts of a conversation.

“...want to speak to Holtzmann.”

“Please describe your spectral entity-”

“I'm not  _here_ for  a ghost problem, I just want to-”

“Who are you?” It's Abby. The intercom switches off and the music starts again. She frowns and turns it off, goes upstairs. Kevin is sitting at his desk looking up at Abby, obviously confused. Abby is saying something to the woman at the desk, and Holtz walks up and puts her arm across Abby’s shoulders. 

“I heard my name, so I figured I should come up.” She looks at the woman, cocks her head to the side, squints. “I'm taking my lunch break.” She steps away from Abby and addresses the woman. “Are you coming?”

* * *

She sits opposite Maria in her favourite cafe near the fire station. They both order drinks but no food. 

“You're married.” Holtz states. Maria looks at the ring on her finger. 

“I am.” She nods. “I have been for nearly five years.”

“That's great.” Holtz means it. 

“I saw you on the news. One of the photos from the theatre bust.” Maria frowns. “You wear the necklace.” 

“I do.” Holtz says. “Is that why you came?” Maria opens her mouth to answer but their drinks arrive so she stops and they both thank the waitress before returning to awkward silence. 

“It suits you.” Maria says. “Jillian Holtzmann, Ghostbuster.”

“I'm the senior proton wrangler.” Holtz grins. “I mean, that’s not an official title, but it’s what I am.”

“Why do you still wear the necklace?” Maria asks. Holtz picks up the pendant, looks at it. She answers through a pout.

“You were the first person who wasn’t family to love me.” Holtz drops the pendant back to her chest. “Or maybe you didn’t, but you were the first to say you did. I didn’t have anyone after we broke up, not until I met Abby.”

“Did you love me?” Maria asks.

“Does it matter?”

“It’s in the past either way.”   


“I did and I didn’t.” Holtz shrugs. “I didn’t love you the way you wanted me to.” She looks up at Maria, who seems disappointed. “I’m not very good at this.”   


“How is it that you’re exactly the same but completely different?”

“I’m not sure-”   


“Holtzmann, you look almost  _ exactly _ the same as you did when you were eighteen. The only thing that’s different is the necklace and it’s just as much a part of you as  everything else is.”   


“Is that bad?”   


“No.” Maria shakes her head, chuckles. “Jesus, no, it finally looks normal on you. You - you caught up with yourself.” Holtz is quiet for a moment.

“I’ve always been a little ahead, huh?”   


“I’ll say.” Maria grips her coffee with both hands. “There is something else, actually. I wanted to make sure the air was clear before I brought it up.”

“What’s that?”   


“I’m pretty sure my apartment is haunted.”

* * *

It’s the first call they’ve taken since they moved location, and it’s entirely because they haven’t gotten a new car yet. The reason they haven’t done  _ that _ yet is because the government is reluctant to give them money that will directly lead to them being more publicly active. The issue is causing tension among the other Ghostbusters so, seeing as she knows the most about cars, Holtz has taken it upon herself to go hunting for a new one. She just hasn’t had the time yet.

Holtz and Patty go together to the apartment without any gear to check that there’s actually a ghost before they carry the proton packs out. PKE meter in hand, the two women enter the apartment and leave Maria standing in the hallway.

“So how do you know this girl?”   


“We dated.” Holtz murmurs. “A  long time ago.” 

"I didn't think you did relationships."

"Like I said, a _long_ time ago."  The PKE meter starts to spin.

“Looks like we’ve got company.”   


“Looks like we do.” Holtz says. “Guess we’d better get the gear.”

* * *

The bust goes relatively well. The four of them show up in their full uniform and Holtz can't help but wink at Maria as she saunters by when they go in - if Maria’s chuckle is any indication, the gesture falls into the category of no harm; no foul. The ghost appears, slimes Erin, gets caught. There’s almost no property damage and the women are gone within an hour. The subway ride back to the fire station is quiet. 

“How are you feeling, Holtzmann?” Erin asks, trying to pick the ectoplasm out of her hair. 

“Fabulous.” Holtz beams at her, and Erin looks uncertain. Abby leans between them. 

“She's always fine, Erin.” Abby says. Erin looks pensive for a second before nodding. When they get off the train Abby holds Holtz back at the station. 

“Are you okay?”

“Of course.” Holtz nods earnestly. “I have you.” Abby bites her lip. 

“Not going to run off to the European Organisation of Nuclear Physics?”

“I blocked their number _years_ ago.” Holtz grins, winks, and jogs up the stairs. 

* * *

She stays late that night to work on the containment unit so it'll be ready to show Gorin when she visits, and she's working on some circuitry when the intercom switches on. 

“Hey Holtz, just checking that you're awake. I'm about to order some takeout.” Holtz checks the time, sees that it's one in the morning and takes her glasses off before she jogs up the stairs. Erin is sitting at Kevin’s desk, tapping the surface of it with the end of her pen. She looks up as Holtz approaches. 

“Why are you here?” Holtz asks. Erin sputters. 

“It gets really creepy upstairs at night and the intercom is here and,” Erin’s voice drops several decibels, “it smells nice.” Holtz grins. 

“I meant why are you still here instead of at home but that works too.” She hops onto the desk and picks up Erin’s paper, starts to read. “What's this?”

“I'm trying to come up with an algorithm to locate zones of higher spectral activity.”

“Cool.” Holtz hands it back. They order the food and Holtz decides to linger there instead of going back to work before the food arrives. She thinks Erin would appreciate the company. They have a light hearted discussion about which fictional ghost would be most difficult to wrangle which devolves into whether or not Mystery Inc. would be good actual ghost hunters until Erin, in her awkward way, turns the conversation more serious after their food arrives. They've migrated to the second floor, which Patty has turned part of into a lounge area. Holtz is hunched over her dish when Erin clears her throat. 

“You, uh, you mentioned that you went to therapy a few weeks ago. At the theatre bust.”

“I remember.” Holtz says. 

“What did you go for?”

“A few things.” Holtz wishes she had something in front of her to be working on. She feels exposed, not having a second thing to think about. “I counted a lot - I still do, actually, I just don't make it so obvious now - I didn't really have any friends. I think my mom suspected I was gay even before I told her and that might've had something to do with it.” She shrugs, picking at her food. “But the catalyst was my dad dying.” She hears Erin gasp, even though it's quiet.

“Holtz, I'm so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” She frowns. “Seventeen years is a long time. Sometimes I-” she swallows, “sometimes I remember, all of a sudden, that I can't ever see him again.” Holtz looks at Erin, who's sitting in stunned silence. “I count until I forget.” 

“You could see him again, you know.”

“I'd rather not.” Holtz murmurs. “Rowan was the only example of sentience we've come across and, and just because I want to see him again doesn't mean I should.” Holtz remembers when she told Abby. They’d been on a stake out in a cemetery and Abby had asked if she’d ever known anyone to die. Holtz had ended up crying about it for the first time in years, had ended up crying for the first time in years, and Abby had sat next to her and held her hand the whole time. Holtz remembers telling Patty, and how Patty had hugged her tightly afterwards. Holtz thinks about Erin and Abby flying out of the Mercado and how she yanked Erin into a hug the second she could.

She thinks about how they aren’t even looking at each other now.   


“Holtz…”

“Yes?” She sniffs and looks up. Erin has lowered her plastic cutlery onto the table. Holtz watches as she stands and walks to sit by Holtz’s side. 

“I’m sorry.” She says. Holtz gives a weak bark of a laugh.

“You didn’t do anything.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Erin puts and arm over her shoulders. “I’m sorry this has all happened to you.” Erin pulls her into a hug and adds, “You don’t deserve it.” Holtz lets herself be hugged by her friend and considers the point. No one has ever told her that she didn't deserve it. She hugs Erin back.

* * *

Seeing the city lights pulls at something in her chest that she can’t put a finger on, but she likes it. Abby pulls her closer and she reaches around so she’s touching the edge of Erin’s shirt, and the four of them stand together for a few moments. Holtz leaves first to check on Gorin.   


“Jillian, I must tell you something.”   


“Yes?” She asks, hopping down the stairs.    


“I’m very proud of you for doing this.” Gorin says. “It wasn’t what I expected from you, which I believe is for the best.”

* * *

Jenn stops by one day to speak to her. Holtz tells her to stand in the corner and thinks it’s hilarious when she actually  _ does _ , like the containment unit is going to explode if she takes a wrong step. She’s been working for about two minutes in silence when she stops and looks back at the woman.   


“We can talk while I work.”

“I didn’t know if it would be appropriate to disturb you.” Jenn says. Holtz laughs.

“Yeah, right, like that’s possible. What brings you to my cave?”   


“I was told to inform you that your activities are no longer being monitored by the federal government.” 

“That’s cool.”   


“It’s basically my job now.”   


“Yours or your lackey’s?” Holtz asks, testing a button. Nothing breaks.

“Just do me and everyone else a favour, Holtzmann. Don’t rip a hole in the fabric of the universe.”   


“No promises.” Holtz replies. She can practically hear Jenn's eyes rolling.

“Very funny.”   


“I’m not joking.” Holtz turns around and pulls her glasses off. “My work is entirely associated with entities on another plane of existence, punching a hole through a dimension is totally on the tables in terms of things that could happen.” She sets them down on her desk and smiles cheerily in Jenn’s direction. “I promise I’ll fix it if it happens though.”

“You’re actually crazy, aren’t you?”   


“Not crazy,” Holtz walks up to her, “just very, very smart.” She comes to a stop just in front of her. “Oh, and weird. Never forget weird.” She gestures towards the stairs and Jenn only keeps her horrified expression for a moment longer before she leaves. 

* * *

Sometimes things turn out differently than how you could possibly have anticipated that they would. Holtz knows this to be true, looking at her friends, but she believes that if she went back in time to see what a younger her would say about her life it’d be something along the lines of ‘yeah, okay.’ and that would be the end of it. Patty snaps her fingers in front of Holtz’s face.   


“I don’t like that face Holtzy, I really don’t.”    


“I might build a time machine.” Holtz says. “I could do that.”   


“I’m certain you could,” Patty says, “but that does  _ not _ make it a good idea.” Holtz shrugs and Patty almost looks like she wants to slap her for a moment.  “Erin! Abby! Tell Doc Brown here that she’s not allowed to make a time machine!”   


“I’m going to start on the specs now.” She gets up and sprints for the fireman’s pole, resisting the urge to cackle with glee as she slides down it, feeling the whoosh of air from Patty trying to catch her. When she reaches the bottom she’s giggling almost uncontrollably. Abby shouts at her as she passes by.   


“Holtzmann, try to remember that you  _ just _ got told not to break the universe!”

“I’ll try not to!” She yells back, jumping to slide down the handrail.

Yeah, she thinks, things turned out pretty much exactly how she wanted them to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if anyone will read this, but I'm thinking about doing something like this for all the characters! If you guys would be interested in that let me know because I think it could be a really fun series to do. 
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for reading my story.
> 
> Rachel x
> 
> downhilltumbler.tumblr.com


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